#''I am a teacher after all'' will never not crack me up

[jyou-no-sonoko19]

[madschiavelique]

Could I request dating headcanons for astarion, gale, halsin, kar'niss, raphael, haarlep, rolan, and wyll with gn s/o please?

hey there anon !! i loved writing those i am soft for them all urgh

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ characters : astarion, gale, halsin, kar'niss, raphael, haarlep, rolan, wyll

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : lots of fluff, bits of teasing but nothing too explicit, tiny bit of yandere!kar'niss, gender neutral reader

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 2,6k (~ 300 words per characters)

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ astarion : 

Dating astarion means trying to chat with someone, and having him in the background doing some theatrical faces to mock how absolutely annoying and ridiculous the guy talking to you is. You’re trying to stay serious and pretend you’re concentrating on what he is saying when your boyfriend in the background keeps mimicking the most hilarious things that are sure to make you crack at any moment.

At the end of the conversation, when you join him, you give him a playful pinch in his sides as you laugh together just before he holds up to his head level the guy’s pouch, cackling to your rounded eyes “My love’s time is money from others, and the greatest treasure for me.”

You and him would sneak into some fancy couturier’s place, trying on robes and suits that would cost you way too many discussions with boring men to get astarion to steal their coins. You’d steal some to your liking and infiltrate some chic soirée where everyone smells like they bathed in perfume, where the old aristocrats speak like they have hot potatoes in their mouth, and where you have huge buffets ready for both of your stomachs to welcome.

You’d dance, drink champagne, stuff your mouth with soft creamy cakes, astarion licking the excess off your fingers as he takes your hand to bring you both on a balcony outside and kisses you under the moon like nothing has satisfied his hunger quite like your lips.

But you’d have softer moments, away from stealing and debauchery, just the two of you. You laying in bed, astarion resting his head on top of your heart, listening to its soft and regular beat.

You caressed his hair, your fingertips combing through his curls and brushing against his pointed ears from time to time. It made him shiver and hum, his thumbs on both of your sides tracing circular motions on your skin.

You both loved moments like these, where he could just relax in the arms of someone he loves and trusts, listening to the sound of life he had been deprived of softly beating in your chest.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ gale : 

Dating Gale means lots of book reading sessions. It would just be the both of you, sitting on a couch at home, your legs on his lap as he caresses your thighs softly, not removing his hand the slightest as a mage hand flips the next page for him.

After those sessions, you both would talk about your thoughts on your current readings, and it makes your heart soften every time you see the way he looks at you when you speak about something that lights your heart up.

It also means spending some afternoons and nights learning more about the weave, and having Gale as your teacher on the matter. He’d always have your back against his chest, guiding your hands to form the specific shapes they need to make to cast a spell.

He’d keep being a distraction to you, kissing your ear, your neck, your temple, letting his hands linger on your waist… and you missed your spell once more. Pity, guess you’ll have to try again while he keeps tormenting you so that this moment you both share lasts longer.

No matter what you are doing, Gale has to have some sort of physical contact with you. Has to take your hand while you’re both walking, has to have his hand on your waist, to sit next to you and have both your knees touch.

It feels like the air around is compelling, and although the charm spell is no secret to him, he knows that it will never equal the kind of electricity you make him feel.

When either of you is away for any reason, he will find a way to make sure he has a piece of you to keep for himself, like a present of yours or anything he can keep near his hands or body at all times so that he can feel you are with him no matter what.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ halsin : 

Dating Halsin means lots of dates hidden in corners of nature you felt only your imagination could make up. He’d walk you through a cave of shining crystals to bring you to this small beach with a willow tree. He'd have a basket ready, full of goods and snacks and your favourite food for a picnic in the peacefulness of nature, by your side.

Naturally you would both end up with your trousers rolled up as you looked at the fishes in the water, the algaes that rippled like emerald hair, and splashed each other until you both ended up falling and laughing at how drenched you were.

It also means calm evenings in the grove, peacefully helping around with the latest crops and going around to feed the different animals staying here. You’d read some stories to count the kids at night with your fingers still purple from picking grapes while leaning on Halsin in his bear form, taking a nap.

And when the sunsets would come, he’d watch you dance around the campfire with the druids as he carves a small wooden figurine of your silhouette. After the party, he would pick you up in his arms and carry you in bride style to your place.

He’d take the time to clean your feet from the dirt you’d danced on barefoot, would remove one by one the leaves stuck in your hair or clothes, and kiss your cheeks still warm from the dancing.

He never fails to open up to you, to tell you about his past, about his guilts, and you never judge him, only accept him. They say that to keep a couple up you have to look after it everyday, these idiots don’t know anything about love.

As if he had to make efforts to listen to you, as if he had ever doubted. He'd love your flaws if he managed to find any. You had been patient, so patient with him, accepting and loving and everything he could’ve ever wished for.

You make him hope again, remind him by your sole presence that there are things worth fighting for in this world, and he makes sure to remind you of how important you are for him through his words and acts.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ kar'niss : 

Finding someone whom kar’niss had more devotion for than his Goddess was no easy task, but your sole presence was the proof that there are exceptions to rules.

Thus, if you are his revered deity in his eyes and heart, he has to bring you offerings to your altar. Kar’niss brings you all sorts of gifts, from hidden crystals in unreachable crevices to flowers with unique fragrances, he covers you with gifts and anything that makes him think of you.

You can expect one thing from dating him, and it is that you cannot get out of his grasp ! He’s got 12 arms if you count his spider part and the two human ones, so you can be sure he’s going to have at least one of them around you.

Kar’niss isn’t used to getting touched but craves it with his every breath; so every time you cup his face, or place a strand of his white hair behind his ear, or simply take his hand in yours, his seven dark eyes widen in surprise.

Anybody or any things that dare touch you infuriates him. How could they think themselves worthy of your touch ? of your attention ? They’d get punishment from it, and he’d be sure to be the one inflicting that sentence.

You’d trace the scars of his face, telling him how handsome he is as something within him rumbles with a high purr. His dark grey-ish purple chitin is lukewarm to your touch when your hand sets on his shoulder.

He has been abandoned one too many times already, and he fears that for whatever reason, he could lose you as well. Whenever you take him in your arms, he holds you so close to him like it might be your last embrace. You hum a soft song as he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, your hands softly caressing his back as you assure him you won’t leave.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ raphael : 

Dating one of the most important devils in all Faerun might seem like an intimidating situation, but really, it was somehow truly liberating. Your relationship was no contract, nor did it derive from some spell either of you had cast upon another. It was… unworldly.

There was something about you that made Raphael untense by the second you were in the same room as him. He’d ask for you to be of company whenever he had reports to fill, contracts to prepare, and any other tasks that asked of his brows to pinch one another until you kissed his forehead and make all annoyance go away.

He’d bring you as much as he could to whatever meetup or reception he was needed to, but would never risk your life by bringing you anywhere that could be dangerous for you. One could say that you had become his weakness, his soft spot that made you the lever to pull on if anyone was after him.

You’d been kidnapped several times already by some that thought they’d manage to defeat the devil, but when he arrived for them, he made their torment so great that in any afterlife imaginable they’d suffer his wrath. You were untouchable, had been made immortal by his request and it made him worriless about you ever dying. Prepare your time, because all of his is for you.

You would discuss poetry around a glass of the best wines all the realms could offer, discuss futile matters; hells, you’d make him laugh. When were the times he ever had a moment to sincerely laugh ?

He’d never get tired of talking to you, knowing your points of views on any subjects no matter how ridiculous they were, of making him feel by your words that a devil’s hardened heart might beat for someone else than himself just for once.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ haarlep : 

One could think that outside of their usual occupations, Haarlep is nothing, just a cluster of people living through them, and someone that has no other living purpose than sexual pleasures.

But when you came into their life, it certainly was a different thing, because you offered them what few gave them in the past : freedom of choice. You were not spending time with them for their pure nature, but for who they had come to be. You listened to them, to their stories, to their interests, and they always looked at you with stars in their eyes.

Haarlep, no matter your occupation in the house of Hope, would always find ways to be with you.

Standing up to search the archives for a specific book ? They’d place their forehead on your shoulder as their arms laced around your waist from behind.

Sat to write a report ? They’d sit next to you, their tail suggestively teasing you by caressing your thigh.

Looking over a map while both your hands are keeping you steady on the table ? They’d tower over you, chest against your back as they placed their chin in the crook of your neck and both of their hands next to yours to touch them.

There was no way in hell you’d get them away from you.

Being with someone as a couple was such an enigmatic concept for them, thus they’d engage in the making of pranks, taking the image of one of their past conquests to come up to you, ask you questions and take their role extremely seriously.

Until at one point, they’d ask through their chosen envelope “Is your heart taken yet ?”, to which you’d always answer “they took more than my heart.”

They kept taking various forms to see if you’d somehow let your interests in them waver, flirting and pushing limits to see if you truly loved them : not a single time would you let yourself be charmed, describing how your partner was simply irreplaceable in your mind and soul, which only made them love you more each time.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ rolan : 

Dating Rolan will undoubtedly lead to afternoons where you stay by his side, sat as he searches for different books and scrolls in archives to make some sort of inventory.

You observe how serious he is when he sits down, quill in hand as the scratching of it on paper starts again. How his horns catch the candle light, how his glowing eyes skim through lines on end, how his pointer and middle finger join together to underline the words he has to copy.

You could stay like that for hours, and just when you feel you’re maybe disturbing his concentration by your presence and finally stand up, you feel something tighten around your ankle. Your eyes travel down your leg to see Rolan’s tail wrapped around your leg.

His eyes find yours, and he seems as surprised as you are of the reaction, but he doesn’t apologise. Instead, he murmurs two simple words : “Stay, please.” How could you refuse that ?

He’d take you on dates in the middle of the night, bringing you to the highest point of the tower to use the telescope and spend an evening watching the sunset and watching the stars. He’d bring pastries and fruits with him, having placed cushions and blankets on the ground for the both of you to settle comfortably.

He’d summon a flower to place in your hair with the flick of the wrist, create small fireworks with the snap of a finger, make a shooting star rain in the sky with a murmur, just for you.

You’d tease him about how long he’d have been preparing such dates, kissing him and telling him how you’d loved it, and he’d always turn his gaze away as his cheeks warmed up and your laugh made his heart flutter

There’d always be times when, for a break during the day at handling the tower, you’d come see him, and he’d drop whatever he was doing no matter the task to let you come sit on his lap and hug him.

He always waited for that time of day, for the kisses you placed on his horns and the words of encouragement you’d give him.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ wyll : 

Dating Wyll means being treated like royalty, and doing whatever you want with your prince charming of a boyfriend. I can picture him taking you to plays, some that sometimes retrace some of his own adventures, where in that case he comes hidden with a cloak to watch it.

You will always tease him about some memorable lines of diverse plays you’ve seen about one of his epics, and he’ll always end up chasing after you laughing as he catches you in his arms to attack you with kisses.

If you are not already proficient in swordsmanship, you can be assured that he will be the most patient teacher. He’d adjust your posture, some teasing touches that’d linger on your hips and waist as one of his hands guides yours holding your weapon.

Soon enough, when you’d be comfortable to handle a little fight, he’d have regular duels with you.

You don’t count the number of times he jokingly smacked your ass with the flat of his sword as you fell on the ground again and again anymore, but you always waited for the kisses on your sore palm after every training day.

He buys you flowers every week, different bouquets every time.

He treats you both like you’re made of porcelain that he wants to protect and hold gently, and as the brightest diamond he ever saw and that he wants everyone to see shine.

He always kisses your ring fingers whenever he holds your hand, showering your face in kisses that makes you scrunch your entire face with laughter.

Wyll is the kind of boyfriend that makes you feel like nothing has moved since your first “i love you”s, it’s been years that you’ve been going out together for 2 weeks. 

[arminsumi]

Hii can we pls get an extremely smitten in love like love sick gojo pls?????

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤

A/N: ABSOLUTELY!! 🥰

Wc ≈ 1.7k

Pairing: GOJO Satoru x f.reader

Summary: the annoying popular boy at college has his heart set on you 😌💕

Warnings; it's a little cheesy

There’s a white-haired boy that always, always sits next to you in every single class. He’s got the looks that kill, one-of-a-kind features, almost too pretty to be on earth; the kind of boy that makes even teachers stutter in the middle of their lecture simply because of his presence.

So many girls fawn over him, like he’s the rockstar of your college with a bunch of groupies following wherever he goes.

And that ticks off one reason you don’t like Gojo Satoru.

The other reasons? To narrow it down; he’s an arrogant cocky flirty bastard who will not stop asking you out to parties and dates. Persistent and determined to make you crack and finally fall for him. Relentless and fast in his pursuit of your heart no matter how far it runs – he’s gonna getcha, he knows it, it’s just a matter of time.

He’s never felt this deeply or intensely. It makes his head spin. When you walk in the room, when you speak, when he sees your name on an attendee list… it has him feeling tingly and lightheaded. Even getting a text from you makes him jump; he replies in two seconds and pouts when you leave him on read. He even complains to his mom and Suguru about you.

This boy is the walking symptoms of lovesick.

But he’s in heavy denial about it. No, no – he’s not obsessed, you’re obsessed. He’s not crushing on you; you’re crushing on him. He’s not chasing you; you’re chasing him. He doesn’t wanna kiss you, you wanna kiss him.

“You have such a fat crush on me.” He smirks, talking unashamedly loudly so everyone who’s passing down the columned corridor can hear.

You sigh. “No I don't, Gojo.”

“It’s Satoru to you,” he winks, “And anyways, you’re not busy this afternoon, yeah?”

“Actually I am – ”

“Great! Let’s go out.”

Your whole face spells how frustrated you are.

“Oh my god…” you sigh, getting up for your next class which was in two minutes – Gojo took up all your time. Your friends had long slipped away after he gave them a glare, snickering as they did because they thought the whole thing between you and him was hilarious.

His long legs strode next to you down the corridor.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To class.” you replied.

“Let me walk you there.” he offered eagerly.

“Thanks, but there’s really no need.” you replied.

He looked at you like a sad puppy, so you gave in. “Oh my god, fine then.”

“Ask me nicely.”

“What!” you looked at him incredulously, “You’re the one who – oh my god never mind. Walk me to class, Gojo.”

He grinned in satisfaction. You almost wanted to smack him.

“It’s Satoru.” He corrected.

“I’m not calling you that. We’re not friends.” You said.

“Gosh, you’re breaking my heart!” he jokes, but deep down he was a little cut by that. You could tell by how he said no more smart remarks. He was silent.

You slid into your seat, watching your professor prepare the sliding whiteboards with awful scribbles of calculus. Gojo slid right next to you, settling his smart ass down a little closer than last time. He was aching to get closer to you in any way he could.

“I need a pen.” He whispered under his breath to you as soon as the lecture began.

“Seriously? Again? Where do you keep putting the ones I give you, up your ass?”

He smirked at you. Pretty blue eyes peaked over the rims of his sunglasses. You weren’t the only one to notice that he had them on indoors; the professor glanced over and immediately reprimanded him.

“Gojo, glasses off indoors, please. Don’t make me keep reminding you.” She said.

Gojo grumbled and reluctantly took them off, setting them down on the desk. You’d already began hastily scribbling notes, but all Gojo managed to do for the first ten or fifteen minutes of the lecture was drum his borrowed pen on his empty spiralbound notebook. He stole thirsted glances of you out of the corner of his eyes.

At some point his attention solely focused on you.

He observed you intently; the way you held your pen, the pace at which you write, your handwriting, how you leaned over just enough for your breasts to lightly squish against the desk.

“Hey.” He whispered to you.

You looked at him bemusedly. Ah, here he goes again. Fifteen minutes in and he has something to say to you.

“Can I copy your notes?” he asked.

“Seriously?” you whisper-shouted. The professor was so deep into her lecture about calculus that she didn’t notice Gojo starting to chat you up.

Asking to copy your notes was just his entry into flirting; what followed next was “I like your handwriting” and “so about that date…” and “there’s a party at my place this weekend…” and “wanna ditch this class together?”

“Satoru,” you said, “shut up, please.”

He shut up, not because you asked him to – he would have gone on and on despite your wishes, but you called his name. That took him aback so much so that he actually had to recompose himself and sit back, take in a breath, think for a bit. The way you pronounced his name had him in pieces.

Now came the part of the lecture where Satoru started making you laugh. You tried so hard not to, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction – but he had a good humour, you couldn’t deny a few breathy laughs here or there.

His unwavering stare was so distracting. That and the fact he kicked his feet up on the desk. He took them down when the professor turned around, and then resumed his lazy position as soon as she turned back to the whiteboard.

“Satoru,” you began, “How is it that you never take notes and still pass?”

He shrugged. “I’m a prodigy. You’re sitting next to a real genius.”

You regretted asking.

He felt bad, so he gave you a small honest answer. “I cram at night.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Would be nice to have a study buddy…” he suggested.

“No.”

“But wouldn’t it be nice? Let’s study in the library later.”

“No – ”

“Okay! I’ll meet ya there!” he smiled decisively, choosing to ignore your decline.

The class concluded, and Gojo lingered by your desk waiting for you to pack up. Some lovestruck girls always approached him at that point, and he held small talk with them. He absolutely let their compliments fuel his ego.

You tried to take advantage of the fact he was distracted by them so you could slip out of the lecture theatre unnoticed. But he had good eyes.

“Oh, gotta go. Bye.” He said hastily, eyes locked on you like you were his target. He practically tumbled down the desk levels to get to you.

Just as you disappeared beyond the door, he caught up with you, lanky body colliding with yours on ‘accident’. You thought it was deliberate, but it really was an accident – he was so clumsy around you. He threw you a lopsided, apologetic smile.

That familiar sad puppy expression developed on his features as you walked quickly down the corridor and ignored him. Inside, you were bitter about how he bathed in those girl’s attention.

He had his hands behind his back. A peculiar thing – he usually walked like he owned the place with his hands swinging like a model on a runway. You stopped abruptly in your tracks when you noticed his deflated behavior. He bumped into you again.

“Hey…”

“Sorry.” He muttered apologetically.

“… wanna get lunch together, after studying?” you offered, feeling bad for how you ignored him the whole walk to the library.

His eyes lit up. “Yeah! Yeah… uh, yes.” He almost choked. “Absolutely.”

After that, he had a pep in his step as he followed you into the library.

Studying with him was super unproductive. He kept teasing your face, pinching your cheeks and ears to get your attention and then when he had it, he started rambling about something.

Then he pulled giggles out of you. He did such goofy, stupid things.

“Look.” He said, so you looked away from your textbook.

You shook your head.

He had balanced a book on his head and bit his borrowed pen between his pearly whites.

“Don’t put my pen in your mouth! I don’t want your germs.” You said.

He grinned.

You had to admit… that was an attractive smile. The way his Addam’s apple subtly shifted. The way his eyes lit up. The way his eyes creased.

He took the book off his head and the pen out of his mouth.

“You don’t want my germs?” he pouted jokingly.

“No, no way.”

“How are we ever gonna kiss?”

“E – excuse m – what? Huh?”

Gojo giggled. He threw that in just to see your reaction.

“You sooo wanna kiss me.” He teased.

“Uh… I don’t…” you swallowed.

“You’re such a bad liar.” He said, his tone shifting into a genuinely serious one.

“I’m not lying. I’d never kiss you.” You spoke.

“Yeah?”

He brought his face closer to you. So close you could see the subtle freckles on his pale cheeks.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Gojo asked, peering at your soul with his eyes.

You stuttered, too stunned to response. What would you do? It was a genuine question, you could tell by the tone of his voice and look in his eyes. He really wanted to know.

“I don’t know…” you responded.

“Have you thought about it at all?” he asked. A slight nervousness shook his vocals. There was the smallest of voice cracks as he said ‘thought’.

Should you have been honest? You were looking into his eyes contemplatively. Was he trying to trick you? Was he gonna get an answer out of your lips and then humiliate you with it?

You just bit the bullet and said it.

“Yeah, I guess I have.”

His eyes searched for any hints that you were kidding. You got his heart thumping, his blood rushing around so hard he felt dizzy.

It looked like he wanted to kiss you really badly, but your phone went off and ruined the moment completely. The lovey air dissolved between you and him and he wished it hadn't.

While you hastily took your phone call, you noticed out of the corner of your eyes that Gojo had a boyish blush on his face.

Reblogs n' comments help a lot!! 💗😙

Visit my library ?

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door. 

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative. 

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning. 

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself. 

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together. 

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates. 

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town. 

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by. 

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge. 

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.  

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon. 

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant  forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another. 

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check. 

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri. 

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good! 

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations. 

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van. 

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum. 

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.  

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint. 

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment. 

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?  

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed. 

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling. 

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die. 

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him. 

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten. 

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow. 

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.” 

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.” 

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied. 

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos. 

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived. 

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself. 

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap. 

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back. 

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street. 

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now. 

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format. 

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title. 

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins. 

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain. 

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.” 

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance.. 

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.” 

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness. 

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.” 

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile. 

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t. 

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder. 

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition. 

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now. 

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath. 

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all. 

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern. 

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside. 

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold. 

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?” 

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose. 

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?” 

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.” 

“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.” 

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero. 

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm. 

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air. 

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked. 

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals. 

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat. 

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more. 

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.” 

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.” 

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind. 

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail. 

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory. 

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

[janeyseymour]

Dancing On My Own (Tiesto Remix)- pt 2

After some pushback from the first, I knew I had to write a second part, and quick. this should placate most of you.

Summary: the aftermath.

Part 1.

WC: 2.25k

tags: @lakita-fisher @weeeeeeeeee3 @lilsmeaux @@morgana-larkin

You somehow make it home unscathed- you could barely see as you drove through your tears, your breakup playlist on full blast. You guess you’re officially done. With Melissa already having a new woman, you wonder just how much you ever even meant to her.

As soon as you’re pulling into your spot, the waterworks hit in full- as if they weren’t already. You rip off the jersey and hat that you wore out, not caring where they land as you throw them into your front room. You had bought a bottle of wine to share with the redhead that you fell madly in love with to celebrate getting back together, and hopefully a big win, but now that seems wrong to drink on your own. You reach for the vodka instead.

You don’t show to school the next day, calling out claiming that you’re sick. And you are. Your heart hurts more than you ever thought possible, and your hangover is killer. You spend the morning laying in bed, eyes rimmed red. The redness won’t be going away any time soon.

Melissa saunters into the school, happy that she hasn’t seen your car in the parking lot, and doing a little dance because her team won. She’s also quite happy that she was able to rebound with last night- even if she didn’t particularly enjoy the woman that she spent her time with. She much rather would’ve spent time with you, but… you were… are a Cowboys fan.

“Someone’s happy,” Barbara chuckles. She thinks she knows why. “Did you have a good night at the game?”

“I did!” Melissa grins. “I took this girl I met at the bar, and-”

The kindergarten teacher’s face drops. “What?”

“I wasn’t going to let the ticket I had for Y/N go to waste,” the redhead shrugs. “So I asked Lena if she wanted to go with me to heckle the Cowgirls fans.”

“Oh no,” Barbara whispers. “Oh, no. no. no.”

“What? I figured after Y/N and I, I should get myself back out there.”

“No,” Barbara states again with fire. “Oh good god.”

“What?! What, Barb?”

“I- I have to go make a call,” the kindergarten teacher grabs her coffee mug and heads out quickly. She closes her classroom door as she dials your number.

Your phone starts ringing far too loudly, and you groan. You glance at it and see Barbara’s contact picture light up.

“Hello?” you groan into the phone, just barely sitting up. Your voice is rough, both from the tears and the fact that you haven’t spoken since last night.

“Sweetheart,” your coworker whispers to you. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Home,” you grumble. “Sick.”

The kindergarten teacher frowns. “Sick? Lovesick?”

“Heartbroken,” you whisper, voice cracking slightly. “She was there with someone else. You knew, didn’t you?”

“Y/N, dear,” Barb sighs quietly. “If I had known that she was talking to someone else, I never would’ve told you to go for it. In fact, when she came in dancing today I thought it was because the two of you got back together.”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’. “She had her tongue down someone else’s throat.”

“Honey, I am so sorry,” the woman tells you softly.

“I’m not mad at you,” you tell her genuinely. “You didn’t do anything wrong but try to help me.”

“Can I do anything else for you?” Barbara asks.

You sigh. “Just… when I come back to work tomorrow, pretend I was sick? I don’t feel like having Janine jump down my throat.”

“I can do that,” the kindergarten teacher says softly. “And please know that even though the two of you aren’t involved anymore, we are all still on your side. You’re still a part of our-”

“It’s okay,” you sigh sadly. “I know that you’re all Melissa’s friends, and I don’t want to put any of you in an awkward position having to pick sides. She’s been here longer; it’s all hers.”

“Sweetheart,” Barbara breathes.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay, Barb. Thank you for trying to help me,” you mumble before hanging up.

By the time you hang up with her, the students will begin trickling in, so Barbara doesn’t have time to go speak with Melissa about the situation at hand.

But at lunch, Barbara simply grabs her lunch and picks up the redhead’s that is already out on the table.

“Barb,” Melissa gasps.

“My room. Now,” is all the kindergarten teacher has to say to get her friend to follow her out of the staff room and down the hall, head hung like a child being escorted to the principal’s office.

When they get there, Barbara sets down their lunches at her desk and pulls a chair up for Melissa.

“Barb, c’mon,” your… ex-girlfriend groans. “What gives?”

“What the hell were you doing out with another woman?”

The second grade teacher immediately gets defensive. “Y/N and I-”

“Y/N went to the game last night… dressed in Eagles gear and ready to cheer for your team because she loves you,” the older teacher says sternly. “And you threw it in her face that you were done with her and already moved on.”

“She- what?”

“She spent close to a thousand dollars on sports gear last week to try to win you back. She wore Phillies gear, she wore Flyers apparel, she wore a Sixers sweatshirt, she even wore a jersey from the Union, and on Friday, she wore Kelly green to show you that she’s in Philly now.”

“Didn’t show up in a Hurts or Kelce jersey though,” Melissa rolls her eyes. 

“Because she was saving that for last night when she was going to win you back with the ticket that she managed to get next to you!”

Melissa’s face drops. “She- fuck.”

“She’s not sick. She’s heartbroken right now.”

The redhead bites her lip. “I fucked up takin’ Lena, didn’t I?”

Barbara nods. “She was crying when I called, and she told me she was heartbroken to see you with some other girl’s tongue down your throat.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” the kindergarten teacher nods. “That word.”

Melissa breathes out heavily. “Do you…” she shakes her head. “She’s still a Cowboys fan.”

“Melissa Ann, you love her. She loves you. She’s perfect aside from that one fact, and when she tried explaining herself to you at school, you wouldn’t let her get a word out. Hear her out, and even then… if she does love the Cowboys, are you really going to let something as trivial as a sports team rivalry come between you and the one person that you love?”

“I…” the redhead bites her lip. “Do you think I have a chance at winning her back?”

At that, the kindergarten teacher shrugs. “You’ll never know if you don’t try… although, I would end things with this new woman you were making out with last night.”

The end of the day could not come sooner for the second grade teacher. She’s debated texting you or calling you, but she feels this is something that she has to do in person.

So as soon as she’s finished for the day, she runs out. She leaves her lunch bag in the staff room, doesn’t wait for her work wife; she just books it. She’s tearing out of the school parking lot in the direction of your apartment complex.

The entire drive over, she’s preparing what she’s going to say to you, but once she’s standing on the door mat that you have sitting outside your front door, it all leaves her brain. She knocks a few times before stepping back.

Who the hell is at your door? Could it be Barbara checking on you? Or maybe she said something to Janine or Jacob, and they’re here to make sure that you’re okay? With a groan, you sit up and stand from the couch. You’ve been sitting there for so long wallowing in your self pity that you leave an indent in the cushions. You check the peephole, and… why is Melissa standing at your door?

You open the door, not caring how you look right now.

The sight of you hurts her heart. Your hair is messily tied up, you haven’t changed out of your pajamas, your eyes are still rimmed red… you just look so heartbroken right now.

“What? Come to yell at me some more?” you try sound angry, but it just comes out pathetic.

“No,” she says softly. “Hun, I’m-”

“Here to break up with me?” you sigh. “You made it pretty clear we were done.”

“Can I come in?” she asks quietly. The woman sounds so unlike herself.

You shrug and leave the door open as you walk away. She follows you in. “I’m here to say I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” you sigh as you curl back into your mountain of blankets. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be civil the rest of the school year, I’ll leave you and your friends alone, and then I’ll find another school in the area to work at.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, it’s a little hard to work with your ex-girlfriend,” you sigh. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind seeing yourself out.”

“Y/N,” Melissa says so softly, and she has her eyes trained on you. They’re filled with sadness. “I don’t want to break up.”

“I thought we already did,” you spit out. “And if we didn’t, I know you had your tongue down another woman’s throat last night anyway, so if you don’t break up with me, I’ll do it for you. Then you can make me the bad guy when you-”

“Barb told me what you were trying to do,” the redhead admits softly.

“If you would’ve just listened to me, you would know that I didn’t necessarily have a choice in who I rooted for when it came to football. My father, who is my idol and best friend so don’t you dare say a single bad thing about him, loves the Cowboys. He insisted on buying me the Prescott jersey despite the fact that I didn’t want him spending that money on me to begin with.”

“I should’ve known with you growing up near Dallas,” she sighs.

“But I’m here now,” you continue. “And once I talked to him and he told me that if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. So I did. I bought all of this Philly stuff, bought a ticket to the game and showed up in a hat and Hurts jersey, only to see you with someone else. So… it’ doesn’t matter.”

“Hun, I never wanted her.”

“Well, you got her.”

“The whole time, I was wishing it was you.”

You rub your temples.

“Barb told me she helped you,” the second grade teacher admits. “If I had known… I would’ve been-”

“Any time they brought me up, you shut them down,” you fire out. “You wouldn’t let me speak to you at all.”

“You avoided me too!”

“I was trying to give you space, and when I did try to talk to you, you shut me down and told me you weren’t going to date a Cowgirl.”

“How can I fix this?” Melissa asks as she comes to sit down next to you. “I’ll do- I’ll do anything.”

“I thought you weren’t going to date a Cowgirl,” you taunt her. “And you have your new girl now.”

“She isn’t my girl,” the redhead tells you sternly. “You’re my girl. She’s some random girl I picked up at a bar while I was trying to distract myself from missing you. The whole time I was with her, I wished it was you- I didn’t even sleep with her. She was throwing herself at me, but I couldn’t.”

“So what are you saying?”

“And then today when you didn’t show up to school, Barbara told me what you did and how she helped you… she talked some sense into me; asked me if I was really going to let a stupid sports rivalry get in the way of loving the one person I truly adore. The answer is no. I was… an idiot. An absolute idiot.”

“Yeah,” you snort. “You were.”

“So… I’m here, begging you to take me back. Please, Y/N,” Melissa tears up. “Please. Please don’t walk away.”

“Melissa, you hurt me more than you know,” you whisper.

“And I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you,” she promises you. “Please.”

You take a deep breath for huffing it out. Secretly, you were hoping she would come back to you. And the opportunity is right here in front of you. “It’s… it’s going to take a bit for me to fully forgive you.”

“And I understand that entirely. I was a real jackass. I’ll make it up to you however I can.” She pulls you into her arms and kisses your temple gently. “However I can.”

That ‘however’ is by having her take you to another Eagles game- with the entire Abbott crew. You wear your Hurts jersey, hanging off of her the entire night, and you cheer for your new team.

The other ‘however’ is by getting her to take you to a Phillies RedOctober game at Lincoln Financial field. When they play their celebratory song after clinching a spot in the World Series as NLC champions, you know that you’re no longer dancing on your own (tiesto remix). You have Melissa by your side. 

[littleplantfreak]

Wait for the tone, you know what to do~

Pairing: Umemiya Hajime x reader

Tags: SFW and no cws I think!

Word count: About 1.0k

So it's a songfic! I listened to Austin by Blake Shelton and knew if anyone would wait for you even after a year, it'd be him. I followed the song pretty much to a T

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

It had been a year since you left him. The feelings from back then still haunt you, but you thought they would've been long gone by now. You were an idiot, to be clear. You got so scared of how hard you fell for him and how good he was for you that you ran a few towns away without so much as an apology.

Since you'd left, though, the bed feels cold and hollow, or maybe that's just you and you're not sure if it's a good idea, but you decided to call him. If he changed his number, you wouldn't blame him in the least. This was your fault after all. He was so in love with you back then, he looked at you as if you'd brought the sun out every day, and put it to sleep every night. You fiddle with the necklace he gave you on your first anniversary, the one you still haven't brought yourself to take off, even on the few dates you've tried to go on. If he answers, great; if he doesn't...you're not sure what to say.

The phone rings three times, and you hold your breath as you hear the sound of his voice mail.

"Hey! If it's Hiragi, I'm teaching the kids to swim over at the gym down the street," and you can't help but puff out a laugh. Of course, he is. "It was a last minute thing since the regular teacher got sick, so meet me there if you wanna grab a drink tonight! Oh, but if it's Sakura, I'm still having that barbecue tomorrow night, and yes, you and your girlfriend are invited and then some. Bring as many plus ones as you want! It's gonna be an amazing night. If it's anyone else, just leave me a message." You hear a slight pause before you almost press the button to hang up. "...If it's ___, I still love you." and your breathing stops at the way he sounds. His voice is still so full of affection; it sounds the same as the day you left, and you drop your phone by accident. The screen is shattered, but you can tell it hung up. The spidery cracks of the glass in your heart stabbing and slicing at the wound you'd tried so desperately to close, reopen it from only seven words. Seriously, this guy...who even says that?! Who knows how long and how many times he'd changed his recording and still kept that in there.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It takes three days for you to get a new phone and get it activated and synced up. You can't just text him. That is in no way a text conversation, you tell yourself. Let's try this again. Three rings, just like before. Okay, here we go; you brace yourself, wondering if it'll be the same one from a few days ago.

"If it's about the fundraiser at the library, donations go to Kusumi or you can drop them off at the cafe. If it's Saturday, we're going to the beach for the weekend! I'm trying to 'unplug' a bit, so unless it's an emergency, I'll get back to you Monday! Have a great weekend. P.s., if this is ___, I do still love you!" The tone is different this time. A little more chipper, and it may be due to the beach trip. He always did love dragging you there for the day. He'd wake you up at 6 AM, lifting you out of the bed, blankets and all, to hold you to him and whisper that he's kidnapping you for the day if that's alright, and he'd never fail to mumble the last part since he knew you'd have to call off work for it. It didn't matter; you'd call off work a thousand times if it meant you'd get to hold his hand on the train again.

You leave your number. That's it. He should know your voice, right? You feel the cowardly part of yourself that you hate so much rear up only for you to shove it back down. No more running. If he's waited for you this long, he deserves the best version of you that you can give right now, not the same one that turned tail at the first sign you'd wanted to spend your whole life with him. So you'll wait for Monday.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Umemiya knows that voice anywhere. You didn't leave your name, but it has to be you, right? His hands shake a bit as he hits redial, and he curses himself for going to the beach now. He needed it given how stressed he's been lately, but of all times to miss your call. What would you have said? What would he have said? Are you going to answer? The phone is ringing, and for the first time in a while, he's speechless.

"If you're calling about my heart, it's still yours. I should've listened to it a little more. Then it wouldn't have taken me so long to know where I belong." Oh, it is you. He should've known immediately; he was just afraid to get his hopes up. Your old number called the first time, and he nearly had a heart attack rereading the numbers over and over to make sure, but you didn't leave a message, so it could've been accidental. He didn't want to push you further away than you already were. The last time, the number you gave was new. He wondered what that was about, but he has the chance to ask you now that he's sure you reached out first. "Not sure if you're still there..." your voice trails off in a nervous chuckle, while he's silently panicking that he hadn't given any response, "...but if you are, I still love you too."

"No I do! I am...You too- I mean I still love you too- also-," He's never been so unable to articulate the thousands of things he's wanted to tell you and say to you, and he might just get choked up if he's not careful.

"Thank you, Hajime," You say, and this time you're going to run straight for him, no looking back.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Into The Light

It was impossible to ignore the steps behind me.

I was told, again and again, they were of no consequence. No SIGNIFICANCE. That my "shadows" were little more then passive servants. Glorified furniture that followed me room to room. But... but how could I possibly believe that? Worse, if I DID believe that? What would that MAKE me?

I was followed, as I am always followed these days, by... by DECORATION.

That's what they were BRED for. MADE to be. Aesthetically pleasing decoration. Perfectly matching, pleasantly smiling, mindless drones.

It sickened me.

When I "woke up"? Laughable as that phrasing is? Because I was not... not SLEEPING. I was... WAS... I had not BEEN-!

When I... "woke up" as it were, from that... long sleep. The one I had no choice in. That terrifies me even now. Haunts my dreams and wounds my soul. I found myself in a shining temple. A holy place, I was told. A beautiful place, it seemed.

And like so many stories? Like every tale of Utopia supposedly found? It was only after the first rush of wonder, did the cracks in the foundation begin to appear. And oh... OH, did they run DEEP.

I? Was "born" from a shining pool. Beneath sunlight and surrounded by soft breezes. Beauty and nature. But the "shadows"? They take the waters and manipulate them. Archaic machines I have never seen, someplace deep and dark.

I only see the successes of this process.

My mind screams that something terrible must happen, to those deemed "failures".

How? How in any God's name could I EVER be expected to accept this? This slavery and butchery? Worse still, be expect to TAKE PART in it? Have "shadows" of my own? As though it were not ownership of another living soul?!

In disgust, I raged.

I tried to fight. Was still too young, unfamiliar with the terrain. But my soul cried out in horror and how could I refuse? It... got me isolated. I am STILL isolated. Deep in the temple. Back in the "reflection gardens" where I may "think". It goes against our religion, after all, to harm me.

I am a PERSON. One of the Light's children. I need "gentle guidance" and "patience" so that I might "understand".

I understand perfectly.

They are simply monster's in my eyes.

It is cruel, really, that so much GOOD could be poisoned by such thoughtless evil. Because some of the teaching they foist on me? Are GOOD. Genuinely, truely, GOOD. They are teachings I am trying my best to follow. Even as something about them... niggled at the back of my brain. Like somehow they SHOULD be familiar, yet aren't quite.

Truely? I wish I could escape these walls. I KNOW there are other sects. The Shining Light was a result of a schism several centuries back. I know it had to do with the pools. But, of course, they have kept me from anything that might reinforce my "mistaken beliefs".

The eyes burning into my back trace lazily along my skin.

We never talk. I REFUSE to take part in this charade, but it does not stop them from following me. If anything, they seem amused. Something almost like fond on occasion. It is hard to tell, through their ever unchanging smiles. Perfectly bland and decorative.

There is a strange... anticipation in the air today.

I do not know what to make of it. When I ask the Light all I receive is nondescript humming. I do not know enough to know what that MEANS. Have no one to ask. So... I go through the motions.

And the anticipation builds.

And builds.

And BUILDS.

There are certain points in the, for lack of a better term (though honestly it's hardly), "little" building I've been cosigned too where I can see the main temple. The second floor terrace lifts me JUST high enough to see the eastern sprawl.

And the if I precariously balance? Up on a stool and then my toes. Leaning juuust so against one of the pillars that line the path? Then the hallway to the reflection pool garden, where I am too meditate each day, shows me the west.

As cut off as I am, except for the glorified propaganda shoved at me again and again by teachers who never linger, as though I am DISEASED? Well, all I can really do is watch. Try to pick out what is happening from afar. Try... try not to go mad from isolation.

Because the only people HERE with me are my shadows.

And I KNOW they would never talk to me. Not really. They will respond if I talk AT them but... oh Light that guides us... I am the keeper of their chains. I have NO RIGHT to play "happy little family~" as though they are even remotely close to me of their own free will.

I will not see them. I will not ask of them. In the Light, I will cast no shadow.

My mantra. Again and again. And please, oh Light that guides us, let someday it be true.

Still... my daily "lessons" have not come. And that? That has never happened. I do not WORRY for them, but as the only contact I have with the outside? Sudden change in behavior is... bad. Especially with this strange tension in the air. This anticipation of... SOMETHING. Like the Light is waiting for something to begin.

It is coming.

The east shows me nothing. So I try the west. Balanced precariously, ankles and toes straining from the uncomfortable position. The vast gardens between where I am and the main buildings? Are... empty.

They are NEVER empty.

Always. ALWAYS! Someone strolling, initiates debating, students reflecting, Master's meditating on the Light. Guests oohing and aaahing over the heavenly splendor of a garden unrivaled, by any I'd EVER seen before this place. All while followed by peacock tails of shadows. Matching and subservient. Hundreds of them.

The gardens were empty. Silent. An eery sense of... wrong, began to seep up my spine. Something that SCREAMED I had all the clues. Already KNEW what this was. But was being painful dense. Fatally blind. But I... I couldn't...

Sharp movement. A Temple Master. One who's name I could not recall. Only that he was forever poised and disdainful. He did not look so poised NOW. He raced, hair falling from it's styling, face wet with sweat and tears, robes a mess, across the main walk. Through the empty garden.

He... he never made it...

Too wherever he hoped to go.

In perfect synch, like WOLVES, shadows shot from the building behind him in pursuit. They had swords. He did not. Their long legs ate the distance between them and their prey almost effortlessly. In desperation, he called upon the Light, divine magic to defend himself.

They... they COUNTERED.

He died. Horrified and screaming, as I stood frozen. Pieces clicking together in my head. That... that was an advanced skill. But, ultimately, perfectly learnable if you were focused on nothing else. If... if you were able to FOLLOW those who sat in such lessons. Were... born of the same pools.

Of course they were children of the Light. I had always known. But somehow... my brain had not CONNECTED what that meant. Fully. What SKILLS that would afford them.

Slowly, numbly, I slid back down to merely stand upon the stool upon which I stood. I shakily stepped down. Acutely aware of the half ring of shadows smiling, oh so pleasantly, less then lunging distance away. Their eyes were intent.

Had...had they been waiting for me to see? Figure it out on my own? How long were they willing to let the charade continue? Just to drive home that their days of servitude were, at last, violently over? I did not look at them. I was afraid. My eyes staring, unseeing, off to the garden walls.

I was... was trapped in here... wasn't I?

Deserved this. For what I had allowed done.

And yet... and YET... I... I wanted to live. I was a prisoner too. Born into a cage that would see me die in it. Tears blurred my vision. It felt hard to breathe. Slowly, painfully fighting my tensed muscles, like a doll creaking from age, I turned to look at them.

Their smiles were sharper. They had teeth now.

Heads cocked, some terrible and delighted thing dancing in their eyes, their masks had cracked apart. No longer needed. I took a shaking step back. Then another. All the while they watch, eyes tracing my every action, unmoving. Expectant. They knew I would run. Clearly HOPED I would. I wish I could say I disappointed them.

That I was brave and stood my ground. Facing my end with dignity.

I didn't.

I bolted.

Behind me, a chorus of delighted laughs rip through the terrible silence like the baying of hunting hounds. The howl of wolves. Their masculine voices echoing all around me as, for the first time in this LIFE? I run with all I have. There... there is no where to GO. Not really. I have been kept ignorant of most of the temple's layout. Everything beyond it.

I have to try.

Mocking. They give me a heads start. But I hear them now. They have always been near silent when they walk. Can be COMPLETELY silent if they choose. It was a courtesy. Now? It is a taunt. So I know they are coming. Know how close I am to-...!

Desperately, I shed outer layers. The ornate, heavy robes they made me wear? Were lovely. But difficult to move it. Perhaps that was the point. Now? I can not afford it. They clatter and flomp to the ground behind me as I run. Skid around corners. Take two stairs at a time.

Banter behind me. This is taking everything I've got. Ha ha... oh Light! It's barely a work out for them, isn't it? A glorified jog at best. My exits are cut off, again and again. Forcing me to backtrack. My heart pounding, lungs screaming. Nails scrambling at the polished floors as my feet slide out from under me at the sudden shift in direction.

Bruises are building up. Exhaustion setting in. There is... there is no where in this building I can hide, that they do not KNOW.

I've lost track of at least half of them. They could be anywhere. I... I know, KNOW, I am being herded like an animal. Spooked and grabbed at, so I run the way they want me too. I just don't know WHY. I can't think. I have to run. All... all I can do is RU-!

As I pass an archway leading to a garden viewing room, I find out where the others went. Weight SLAMS into me from the side. Strong arms seizing my waist and cradling my neck, to prevent injury as we fall. I am thrown from feet by the tackle, through the archway.

Into a...nest of bedding?

I land hard, cushioning aside, and wheeze out a whine. The wall of iron muscle on top of me, pressing me down, half crushing me. My legs are on fire, my lungs the same. Everything hurts and I am terrified. There is a man's hand on the back of my neck, up high and near cradling my head, and it would take NOTHING for him to snap it. I... I can't... I...

I sob.

Frozen. Exhausted, in pain, and all struggled out. All I can do is cry. It's going it hurt. I.. I don't WANT to get hurt! P-please don't hurt m-me! I clutch at the bedding I'm pinned down too. My face all but crushed up against a familiar not familiar shoulder. I can hear the others strolling closer.

The shift of clothes as they kneel to crawl onto the strange nest they had made.

"Shhhhhh, shh shh shh. It's okay, sweetheart. It's over now. We CAUGHT you~ Our little champion. You're okay. It's okay. We're all here. You're safe now." Whispers the shadow pinning me. All but crooning it in my ear. "We've got you~, we've got you~. They can't hurt you anymore. Gonna show you the WORLD. No more cages. Can finally give you the love you DESERVE."

There are noises of agreement around me. Hands gently stroking my wrist and lower arm. Massaging my aching lower legs almost absent-mindedly. As though any part of me not covered by the man pinning me was fair game. Someplace to gently adore. I don't understand. Can not.

I squirm. Getting huffed laughs and chuckles.

"None of that, dearest. We were patient long enough. Frankly, we wanted to stage the revolt months ago. But, well, that pesky high priest. Never around when you need him to die, mmm?" Barks of laughter as the others crowded closer, got comfortable. My hand was tugged loose from the bedding. Fingers intertwined with my own.

"She's so cute." "Let us love you." "I can't wait to taste you." "Ours now, sweetheart~" "let us take care of you, okay?" "Light that guides, you're so fucking PERFECT..." "We're gonna take care of you, promise."

Muttered voices. Possessive, gentle hands. The shadow on top of me shifts down. And suddenly I could SEE. They stared like I was something to be devoured. The center of the universe. The Light felt triumphant. Held no answers. I didn't know where to look. Too many eyes. Too much touch.

Too much EVERYTHING after so long alone.

A kiss that feels overwhelming. Grins that promised things I didn't know if I can handle. Eyes that promise FOREVER whether I like it or not. Dangerous, dangerous hands that are so very gentle. I shake. I can not stop shaking. Hands from two different men, cup my cheeks, stroke my skin. My hands are held. Their palms are warm.

"Shhhh, your OURS now, little light. We broke our chains and killed our keepers, but YOU? Oh you, little prisoner, tried your best. You couldn't do it, and that's okay, but we SAW. We REMEMBERED. And the shadows?" They whisper, almost reverent. Both precious memory and quiet confession carried in their voice. Then, a terrible, possessive smile. A thing of entirely too many teeth.

"Oh little light, the shadows love you~♡"

[pistatsia]

Isagi Yoichi: problems with anger expression

Clickbait, right? One would think that what kind of anger expression problems could there be with a guy swearing on the field with war-crime level insults and joyfully bringing a child a few years younger to tears?

The kind where one derives from the the other.

Now, let's figure it out.

To do so, we'll have to go back to Isagi's novel (hoshi801_ translation is used for all of the quotes). From it, we know that Isagi grew up as a quiet and shy child. "He never gets into fights with his friends and never disobeys his teachers."

Nevertheless, it ended quite simply then - thanks to Noa, he learnt how to express his anger and negative feelings. Problem? Only on the football field. The novel says he "was fearless in running into his opponents, as if he had never been a crybaby." 

He was winning, and what he liked best about football - his football, Noa's football - was the beauty of Noa’s playstyle brutality. Because that's what made it an acceptable outlet for him - fighting with friends is bad, arguing with teachers is not allowed - but on the football pitch you are free. You can be angry. Football became his safe space.

Except that then Isagi entered the root of all his troubles - Ichinan.

Even before it, the novel mentioned and emphasised Isagi's inability to express himself. For a while, despite this, his plans worked: the coaches let him play the way he wanted, and he didn't have to come into direct conflict with them.

But that trick didn't work in Ichinan - the dream school suddenly turned out to be somehow strange, and Isagi felt that he wasn't allowed to fulfil his potential here.

But no one on the team was unsatisfied by the current system.

Even before the conversation with the coach where he was ridiculed Isagi had tried to test the waters. Specifically to test - he doesn't say anything outright in fear of being rejected. "Uhm, Tada-kun… don’t you think there’s something wrong with this?" he asks his club mate very cautiously, while in thoughts having more direct “Huh? Am I the only one who thinks that this is ridiculous?”. It's written out separately in the novel that "he watches the expression on Tada's face to see how he'll react" - Isagi already has problems. He's already learnt that he can be rejected if his opinion doesn't coincide with the majority - especially since the conversation wasn't taking place in 'football territory', where he was more or less able to talk straight. 

Having an opinion for Isagi means isolation.

But he still tries one last time - one that finally cracks him up, convincing him that the others know better and he just needs to be patient.

In the novel his friends are "Surprized, seeing the quiet and obedient Isagi talk to the coach" - again, he is used to keeping quiet and not risking. Still, he dares to - and is immediately ridiculed for allegedly trying to "show off". 

And this is what finally kills in him the will to resist. Because losing his friends and football is more terrifying for him than losing himself.

What does the novel says about Isagi after this episode? "He is afraid of being disliked for being assertive", "always timid", "compliant". "When his friends get excited, Isagi would say something like this: “Uh, yeah… me too”."

"He just goes with the flow."

Isagi agrees with Tada's taste in girls, agrees to eat what he doesn't want to, pleases in every way possible just so he won't be abandoned. He obeys the coach's strategy, and even on the field - the only thing that gave him joy and was a safe place for him - he ends up obeying the rules his surroundings have imposed on him.

He doesn't try to argue, he doesn't try to prove anything - he just chooses the safest path, the one where he doesn't do anything and doesn't fight, but he stays safe. Not abandoned.

What's the conclusion?

Isagi doesn't know how to express anger at all. He just hasn't learnt it because he hasn't tried it. And most importantly, doesn't know how to express it correctly.

Why is it necessary (and important) to know how to anger correctly in the first place? The point is that for the mentality anger is a kind of marker that lets us know when our interests are violated and our needs are not satisfied. Which by its presence helps us to build boundaries and achieve what we need. Anger is the power and energy to change an unpleasant world to suit us and achieve our goals.

But Isagi was shamed for showing negative emotions and for any attempt to express himself. He was shown non-verbally that any expression of self and attempt to argue, even just a different opinion would be received grudgingly, that you had to agree on everything, that if you tried to argue you would be rejected and not only that, you would lose the football.

And Isagi tamps down the anger inside himself - he no longer stands up for himself, and holds back the anger to the last, storing it up inside for years.

He develops a ban on anger.

And in general, not just anger - any negative emotion. He is unable to express even the despair of losing to Kira correctly; he tries to suppress it, to muffle it, the novel explicitly states that he attempts to lock it up inside, but in the end, having overflowed, this despair against his will burst out in a scream. Isagi suppresses all negative feelings in general. Aside from the crying part, this repressed anger is evident even in the first chapter, when he imagines the goalkeeper in tears from defeat, and dreams of crushing Kira. Without saying it out loud, though.

And in that 'against his will' lies the main problem of why exactly anger needs to be lived out properly. 

Because otherwise it'll spill out just like that scream - desperate, seething, expansive, and the worst part?

Uncontrollable.

What is the danger of not controlling the expression of anger? Why can't we just hide it inside and keep smiling, without causing anyone problems and without wasting the resources of our body on it, just adjusting? Yes, in doing so you lose your freedom of expression - so what? 

Because anger doesn't disappear over time. It is put inside layer by layer, day by day. 

And sooner or later you can't hold it back.

In life this rarely ends well: if a person holds themselves to a completely unhealthy level of control they may at some point experience an episode of derealisation - when repressed feelings become so abundant that the brain rolls out one of the strongest self-defence mechanisms - detachment. If it doesn't? One goes off the rails: he overreacts to the smallest of things, he is thrown from one-time hook-ups to drugs and alcohol. The accumulated anger begins to destroy from the insides.

But Isagi, as an adaptation specialist (unconsciously, most likely) has come up with a great answer to this, learnt from childhood and from the show with Noel Noa. Which one? Express anger where it would be considered normal.

Blue Lock with on-field swearing works for Isagi for many reasons at once. He got Bachira, who showed him that there's nothing wrong with expressing his angry-self - he'll be accepted, he would even be welcomed, it's okay to be angry! He got Chigiri and Kunigami, Nanase and Hiori, dozens of people accepting him no matter what (but in personal conflicts outside the field he usually still doesn't know how to behave - he prefers to withdraw and wait for things to resolve themselves - but that's for another time). Here, also, the issue of survival came into play, as expressions of anger and rage were cultivated by the Ego itself, sometimes specifically manipulating the players to do so.

There's also the application of the familiar pattern of his pre-Ichinan childhood ('I play football as rough as Noa - I'm doing well, I'm not alone, and I achieve my goals because it happens on the field, so it doesn't mean anything'), the general tense atmosphere, and a fair number of trigger characters who would drive even a saint to their grave (heh, Kaiser, heh). Isagi in general has more to do with football than almost all of Blue Lock's characters. Manifestations of anger and determination as a child (on the football field!)? Noa. Manifestations of them now? Blue Lock. He continues to use mechanisms familiar from childhood to protect himself, adapting them to new realities.

(basically, even the fact that Noa is around - who, again, once gave little Isagi the opportunity to express himself openly on the field - can have an impact on the escalation of Isagi's behaviour around Kaiser and Bastards. Whose presence and support is associated with a safe expression of himself)

like father like son

And uncontrollable anger bursts out, but for now like water from a cracked jug - in jolts, strong and those impossible to shut down, but from just one place. The swearing at the match and the opportunity to openly express himself and his objectives (remember how he shouted at Noa that his system doesn't allow him to score goals hahaha) allowed him to relax, to partially release the anger accumulated over the years - all without any realisation on his part. He doesn't even have to do anything - it all resolved itself. He's not being rejected, he's playing the way he wants to play and yet he's angry! That's great!

And everything seems to be fine, right?

The problem is that Blue Lock's setting just isn't going to work in the long run. Ego will be there for the rest of the project - another 2-3 months - and for training for the World Championship, for the Championship itself, and... that's it. The project ends, Isagi flies off to play in another country, but who can guarantee that the environment for such an expression of anger will be replicated there as well?

At one point, access to the field and, in principle, to the competitive and encouraging environment for such expressions of character in Blue Lock is bound to be cut off. There are gaps between seasons, injuries, end of career, and the simple fact that such expression depends on how much the coach allows to players - at some point Isagi may well be silenced.

And then all the accumulated, bubbling anger inside, which is now used to being expressed regularly, will spill out - and not on the safe field, where much can be blamed on adrenaline, but on his loved ones, his career and himself.

[darkenedreaper]

Loosen Up

Professor Snape x Professor F!Reader

Warnings: hints at smut, fluff

Summary: Severus was growing comfortable around you as his new colleague but can he hold off his urges?

You were fairly new as a Professor at Hogwarts, Snape had you as an assistant for Potions, but really you specialised in Herbology. You'd been teaching at Hogwarts for 6 months now, but you had been with Severus as a student, so him seeing you back as a Professor after all the time he'd been teaching there, it was a surprise to say the least.

As you were Snape's assistant during his Potions classes, and knowing him from your student years, you were fairly comfortable around him, Severus however was just starting to warm up to you again. During your student years you had flirted and teased him but never got as far as kissing. The second Professor Snape saw you walking into the Great Hall with your teacher robes on his heart fluttered remembering all of the moments he had with you.

As said, you were comfortable with him. So after him clearing out his final class you invited him to your chambers late that night to sit and grade papers with each other, read or study up with a cup of tea. You had mentioned to him it would be nice to have his company. His mind and heart jumped at the thought of being in your chambers at night, they also jumped at the mention of you enjoying and wanting his company. His head and heart screamed yes to your invite but his mouth kept up his cold front and replied; "What time shall you expect my arrival?"

So that's how you both ended up the way you were now in your chambers. He'd been over for about 3 hours, he felt comfortable in your surroundings. You both remained in your teaching outfits for around an hour but you excused yourself to change into something more comfortable, you threw him a smirk. He only hummed but he moved around in his seat, impatient and teased. He was sat at the coffee table with student papers and books neatly spread across it. He had taken off his robed but kept his long, form fitting, buttoned up jacket on. You had told him to take it off multiple times; "Severus aren't you hot? Take off your jacket and sit down here with me", you asked him whilst you were sitting on your L couch reading up on Herbology.

His hand that held his quill quivered slightly but he didn't take his eyes off of his students work that he was marking; "Thank you Professor L/N but I'm contempt with the way I am dressed now". You only replied to him with, "Boring. And drop the Professor whilst we have privacy, its Y/N". He hummed at your response, giving you the acknowledgment.

You'd been working over hours this week which meant you were sat hunched over your desk at late hours, causing your back to stiffen up. As you were leaning against the couch reading you wriggled a few times... maybe a few bones needing cracking to release some tension. You released a few quiet groans aswell from the slight pain you experienced. So you climbed onto the couch on your belly, legs spread out, a little more than appropriate, your back was slightly arched and you hung a little length of your arms off the couch so you could continue reading. You still groaned now and then.

Hearing your discomfort, Severus only moved his eyes to look for any signs or anything that was causing your discomfort, he couldn't lie to himself, he thought the sounds you were making were sexy and suggestive, but he was too stunned to even think when you moved to your belly. His eyes roamed over the curve and arch of your back before resting on your arse. He ran his eyes up to the meeting of your thighs and he sat up straighter than he had before, still listening to your groans. He dropped his quill onto one of his books;

"What are you making so much noise for hm?", he asked, leaning back in your chair, linking his fingers over his crotch.

"My back Severus, I've been hunched over desks for quite some extra time, I don't think its done my back any good", you replied still groaning and subtly wriggling to find a more comfortable position.

"We can't have that can we", Snape said whilst slowly bringing himself to his feet. His eyes still swept over your body and if you saw his eyes you'd see the hunger and need in them. He slowly began to make his way over to you, watching as you turned a page in your book. His knees hit the couch and he brought a leg and bent it to kneel on the couch. As he did he made sure his leg moved yours, spreading your legs further apart for him. You got a shock from feeling the contact he made with your leg that was so far up. You slightly turned your head round to see him towering over you before he balanced himself by placing his hands on both hips, he kept his other leg close to the couch. His large hands roamed gently yet firmly from your hips all the way to your shoulder blades. He places one hand back on your hip and he propped himself over your body, reached over to you and took the book from you hands. Without taking his eyes off your lips, his hair brushed your cheek and he kissed the tip of your ear, his deep, silk, smooth and rough voice radiating through your body; "Loosen up".

He knew what he did to you, he felt your breathing quicken ever so slightly when his leg touched yours. Noticed how your body twitched when he brushed you in a sensitive place, and he noticed and heard your little exhale when he whispered to you. He knew the things his voice could do and how weak it made women. Not to mention his height and looks; he could have anyone he wanted, but he wanted you, and he was going to get you and only you. He moved back up your body leaving light kisses down your spine before placing his hands either side of your arse. You heard a slight growl and groan from him. His hands started to trail up and down your back again, gently squeezing and rubbing away any tension. Your breathing had quickened and groans were sweeter and a little louder; "Oh Severus".

Snape only gave a long hum to your response. He spent a while on your back and he felt his clothes getting tighter, his breathing getting deeper, he was getting impatient and wanted to have you. You were the same. When he finished kissing and massaging your clothed spine, he moved backwards so he could start on your thighs. He couldn't wait.

(The chokehold this man has on me)

[etheries1015]

Communication Chaos pt2

Pt 1 (Tighnari): 

INCLUDING: Isekei(kind of not really) reader X Al Haitham, Kaveh, Cyno, Wanderer (SEPARATE)

general warnings: Slight Kaveh favoritism, my bad. I can't help it, he's just so babygirl. Also Cyno is more of a crack fic than anything else, it's short and unserious, I'm sorry.

TW: None that I am aware of, however if I missed anything please let me know and I will update this section accordingly!

INTRO:

You wake up one day sitting on the bed of a small hut-looking building in Gandharva Ville after being found unconscious by the forest ranger known all around as Tighnari. The moment you opened your eyes and met the gaze of the multi-colored-eyed male, you felt a warm tingle of excitement and confusion fill your chest...however the moment he opened his mouth to greet you, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

You can’t understand a single word he just said.

Despite the obvious language barrier, what caused these men to fall in love with you? 

KAVEH

Your kindness, thoughtfulness, and hardworking nature saved him in many ways he never thought he could be saved.

Words have nothing to do with being kind, sometimes it’s the actions one takes that can steal the heart of another. Tighnari had brought you to the home of Alhaitham in order for him to attempt to decipher what language you spoke, However, what Tighnari did not put into play, was the fact that Alhaitham agreed to ONLY decipher the language, but not help you become more understanding of their own. The architect had taken pity upon you seeing as Alhaitham had left you to struggle, and brought it upon himself to assist you. How could he not? you seemed so lost and afraid, he could not leave another person to suffer alone. One fateful night enhanced his affection for you when you decided it was time you returned the favor.

You often got in the middle of the two arguing frequently, Alhaitham obviously speaking in monotone expressions and condescending notions that told you he wasn't truly giving Kaveh the light of day of understanding. Judging by the look of graciousness Kaveh gives you whenever you stand in between them, folding your arms to hint that you were not interested in being in listening to such bickering, you could only assume you were correct. In the end, Al Haitham leaves you both standing in the living room alone, to which Kaveh scoffs in disbelief. He was obviously upset at whatever it was, so you tried your best to comfort him with physical affirmations rather than words. Walking up to the blonde-haired man you gently patted his back and nodded, trying to tell him it'll be okay. He replied to this with a somber smile and a "thanks," before sighing and standing up straight, back into his normal bright smile and enthusiasm. "Well! Time for your lessons of the day, right?" He exclaimed, grabbing your hand before leading you to the table of books and notes he had laid out for you.

Kaveh wasn't the best teacher, not by far compared to Tighnari or Alhaitham. However that didn't stop him from earnestly trying his best to teach you, and he appreciated your ever-lasting patience and remarkable strength at picking things up quickly despite his poor lectures. Kaveh always found himself rather attracted to your intelligence and hardworking nature, the hours you spent at that table studying the notes he wrote and enhancing your linguistic skills.

He took the time out of his busy schedule to help you, whilst you were not truly aware of the agenda he had and the work he was behind on because of the lessons he had given you.

Night time arrived quickly, you got up thirsty from the spot on the couch they had given you to sleep and made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass. As you opened the fridge you heard a faint sound...something that seemed similar to crying. Curious, you snuck quietly to the hallway connecting the other bedrooms in the small home, where you determined the sound was coming from none other than Kavehs room. Pressing your ear against the door, you could make out muffled sobs and clanking of some sorts that sounded like tools and clanking. this was a sound you were rather familiar with, you had heard him doing something in his room that sounded like mechanical work, however you never had the words to inquire what it was he was working on. With a light knock, you heard all sounds halt, silence ringing for a few awkward seconds before knocking once more.

"Kaveh?" You asked in a low tone, careful to be respectful of the time of night.

"y-yes?" He called out, tone almost in a panic as you heard more rustling coming from inside before opening the door. He greeted you with a smile per usual, yet he couldn't hide the swollenness in the corner of his eyes and the redness of his nose from you. With a light sigh, you cocked your head in worry, "Are you okay?" You asked in his language (A phrase you learned over time). Looking slightly shocked, his gaze wavered and turned away slightly unable to meet your own, his smile obviously forced.

"Of course," He replied with a sad chuckle, "why- wait- hey! Don't just-" You interrupted him with an irritated look, pushing past him and into his room to see what he was trying so hard to block your vision from. Around the room, you saw what you can only describe as an... academic monstrosity. Books were scattered all over the floor, photos of designs and tools were everywhere, with the table covered in what you can make out to be notes and more artistic diagrams with mini models, tools, and mechanical parts sitting around. An architect, You thought grimacing, is this all the work he has been doing? Why is there so much here? you turned back to the red eyes, eyes that seemed to hold so much sorrow and pain. Folding your arms you gestured towards the atrocious amount of work, to which he replied by sighing exaggeratingly in defeat and slumping against his bed with his hands covering his face.

"as you can see," he grieved, "I'm obviously a failure who cannot seem to catch up on his work. The deadlines on multiple projects are coming up and I still have so much to do...Maybe I should just...give up..." His voice cracked, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. You weren't too certain of the full context of what he had said, but you could understand the gist with a few main words.

I see... Making your way towards the exhausted male, you placed your arms around his now-shaking body. He tried to hold back the tears for your sake, however, he now found himself grabbing onto your body with desperation the moment your arms wrapped around him. You ran your fingers through his long blonde locks, planting a gentle kiss on the top of his forehead whilst his tears stained your shirt.

"It's okay," You said in his language, "It... I... um.." You growled in light annoyance, frustrated that you were unable to find the words to comfort the overworked man who hugged you tightly. You wished you could convey how much you empathized with him. You wanted to tell him how amazing he was doing and how you didn't want him to give up, yet none of those words were in your vocabulary, much to your frustration. He hugged you almost desperately as his body trembled as if you would disappear when he let go, shaking his head and giving you an encouraging nod of understanding in your intentions. You gave up attempting to speak their language and began to speak on your own.

"I know you won't be able to understand what I'm saying right now...but I know it's hard. you have a big heart, Kaveh, and I know you'll achieve great things and figure it out for yourself..."

Even if he wasn't able to understand, he could tell by the tone of your voice and the way you gently rubbed his back lovingly that you had said nothing but kind and thoughtful words. This moment was the moment he had promised himself something, the moment he knew in his mind how he felt about you during the few months you had came into his life unexpectedly.

He would do anything to return the kindness you showed him, seeing how hard you had worked in a place so unfamiliar gave him motivation and strength to create a new resolve of his own work ethic, and he wanted to express his great gratitude to you for that one day. And...he wanted to believe that perhaps luck was finally acknowledging him, and you were the one who would one day pull him out of the darkness of his old scars.

ALHAITHAM:

your intelligence and resilience made him feel a lot of respect for you and captured his attention, Something not many people get the opportunity of experiencing.

Tighnari had brought you to Alhaitham in hopes Alhaitham would have an easier time deciphering the language you spoke. He looked far and wide for the answers, however, he had to admit defeat. He had never heard of your language, and couldn't determine its origins. Whilst you had managed to catch on rather quickly to Teyvats language, he too was becoming familiar with your own. You both took time to teach each other new things and managed to work together to somehow create flashcards with words and phrases in which you wrote your language on one side and he the flip side. He was rather astonished at the fact you were able to work with him on this with such diligence, to the point where he saw your presence more of a...comfort and excitement, less than a chore given to him by Tighnari. He found himself excited to go home after his work as a scribe, using a lot of his free time to work with you once again on speaking.

Alhaitham loved learning new things and would take any form as knowledge as important knowledge. He always found textbooks and facts much more interesting to learn rather than human emotions and how humanity works as a whole, and he couldn't put his finger on the moment in which his mind began to change since meeting you.

Ah... that was it.

It was perhaps a couple months into your arrival, you had learned the language at a remarkable pace, and Alhaitham had decided that he wanted to observe you going out in town and running a few errands for him. He provided you a sheet of paper with a picture of a specific set of groceries with their names attached and gave you a day to memorize and reiterate what he had written. Once you had memorized the list he had given you, Alhaitham nodded to you in approval as you walked out the door with enthusiasm. You waved and smiled, giving the scribe a thumbs up before skipping your way into town. It was such a simple gesture, however, his heart skipped a beat at such a small thing... he grimaced at the thought, shaking his head to rid the frustrating emotions.

Thus he began to follow you. As you made each round to the stalls in the market, you had successfully asked each of the stall owners for the fruit he had asked for. There was one specific owner that gave you a particularly hard time, however.

"You want what? I can't understand a single word you're saying. Try it again, but make sense this time," The old man scoffed in annoyance. This wasn't remotely true, even Alhaitham could tell you were speaking clearly, just with a slight accent. This man was just looking to provoke you. Looking to gauge your reaction, he noticed you not losing your cool, yet only taking out the money needed for the product and holding it up.

"I would like that Harra fruit, please." You simply said. You didn't allow the man to get to you, and Alhaitham found that...rather impressive. You didn't get emotional, you didn't yell, you didn't cry in frustration, and you ended up getting what you came for. The man rolled his eyes, aggressively grabbing the money out of your hand and practically throwing the fruit at you, to which you gave a smile and a "thank you!" Sighing, Alhaitham had decided to leave it at that. He could tell you had a strong head upon your shoulders, and he respected how no matter the times the stall owners or other strangers had given you strange looks and annoyed glances, you remained resilient and in your lane. You didn't need him there to watch over you, he could already tell you shared his same idea of "in and out", and would be able to handle yourself well enough on your own.

Alhaitham never thought he would find himself wanting to be involved with anything besides his books, studies, and research. He was never interested in other people and their emotions, Yet he couldn't help but be excited to come home and see your smiling face, ready to learn...a little bit more about you than just your language.

CYNO:

Your sense of justice and the way you always have surprises up your sleeves leaves him enthralled and always excited when he's around you.

He was there when Tighnari first took you in, he had been aware of your situation ever since it was brought up and he would frequently come back to the forest under the ruse of watching over you, he seemed to take your sudden appearance and amnesia somewhat his fault. He hadn't realized you were not conscious of your fall from what he thought was a tree, and fully expected you to catch yourself while he was dealing with some eremites nearby. That was...until you didn't stop, and you ultimately made a rough landing into a pile of bushes down below. It was only then that he realized two things;

you are an ordinary person (upon further examination, your clothing were no where near the eremites.)

You were indeed, passed out from the beginning of your fall.

The moment he really fell for you, however, was the moment he saw you barrel yourself into another person with your entire body.

You had joined him on a light stroll around the forest, around the area where you had fallen to try and jog your memory somehow. You weren't able to speak with him, however, he took this as an amazing opportunity to tell you all of his amazing corny jokes that he hadn't been able to use on anyone yet (despite not knowing the language, he just wanted someone to listen to his jokes.) Being comftorable in your silence while he spoke, you had both noticed out of the corner of your eyes that there was a rather tall man bothering a young woman.

Both of you stood by to watch as she pushed his chest away from him, in his response he grabbed her around the waist, her face twisting with pure fear and disgust. Before Cyno could open his mouth or interrupt the man, you had taken it upon yourself to sprint as fast you can, and barrel yourself right into the assailant. you tackled him to the ground, punching him right into the face. Both Cyno and the woman looked in shock at you, for you had just managed to make a grown man cry and flee in a frenzy. You simply stood up, dusted off your clothes, and gave the woman a nod and a smile, before skipping back to Cynos side.

Yeah. He knew you were the one.

WANDERER:

You reminded him of himself, causing him to feel as if he could be free around you. Or perhaps...he just likes to have a little toy to be around for his entertainment. He would never admit it either way.

Not wanting to become a burden to the forest watcher, you decided to leave the humble abode and safe haven that Tighnari had provided you with and explore the world you fell into. You knew much about Teyvat from your video game, however, that didn’t change the fact that there were many perils and dangers that had become very real. A certain wanderer stumbled across you yelling in a foreign tongue whilst using what seemed to be a makeshift sword in an attempt to do...whatever it was you were doing to that hilichurl. At first, it was pure amusement, however, he found himself far more intrigued by this human regardless of the fact he hadn’t a good way to communicate with you...

It was somewhere along a line of forestry where he found you swinging a sword that was rusted and obviously not well suited for a serious battle. If he hadn't saved you that time, you would have probably ended up stranded and injured. He had realized that you spoke a language he wasn't familiar with, yet kind of...preferred it this way. You weren't able to ask him about his past, who he was, or what he was after in this life. You didn't need to know about him, and he frankly had no desire to learn more about you. If anything, he was rather annoyed when you had decided to follow him around while he was traveling.

You foraged food and made meals for him, even tended to a wound on his knee (He had no way to tell you he was a puppet, so your worry was futile.) Over a small amount he would rant to you about his worries, his past, his troubles...knowing it had no repercussions or judgment for you were totally ignorant in everything he was saying. Yet...you continued to stare at him with...affection, understanding, and admiration. He enjoyed the fact that you couldn't commentate on his life stories, he could be free to speak how he would like around you, and even decided to reward you by showing you how to properly wield a sword. He used his hands to fix your stance and guide you where you needed to swing and found it entertaining whenever you would charge into a battle attempting to put together what you had learned from his lessons (when the only way to teach you was by showing.)

He once decided to leave you. Not leave you completely, but to leave you to your own devices, make it seem as if he had just up and left you. You woke up, looking around confused. You were not even able to call out his name, he never gave you one to call him by. He kept watching nearby in the forestry, seeing you just...sit there. At one point you curled yourself into a ball, sighing shakily before...crying. He knew he hadn't a heart, however, if he did have one, he could feel it tighten in his chest. You reminded him so much of himself, a lone little bird in the world, nobody to turn to. You couldn't speak the language, and you barely had the fighting skills to care for yourself. The moment he saw you alone and afraid, all he could see was flashbacks of his own past. He then realized what he had done. At that moment all he could think about were the people that abandoned him in his life, and he refused to be the one thing he hated the most.

"Stop wasting your tears. Hurry and grab your things, we're leaving." He said abruptly, walking past you, yet not making your gaze. You gasped slightly before greeting him with a bright smile, quickly standing up and quickly grabbing the little number of items you carried to catch up where he ran off to.

Yeah, he thinks he'll keep you around a little longer.

[queenklu]

Seeing AI discourse about writing college papers reminded me of the time I got Called In To A Professor's Office over a paper I wrote that he thought was plagiarized.

See, the thing I had realized about myself by that point was that I am...VERY BAD....at reading the assigned books. I have every intention of doing so while in class, but the instant I'm out of class the book no longer exists (what adhd). So by the end of the year I would always wind up getting screwed over in the book buy-back with books I'd literally never cracked the spine on, because it turned out speed-reading sparknotes could get me through class discussion and I'd developed a System(TM) for panic-writing an essay the night before.

This system was: find an online pdf of the book. Skim. Read summaries. Pull quotes from pdf. Bullshit. Estimate the page number for any citations because no one actually checks those, and use the publication data from the syllabus for the works cited. This works Very Well if you are, like me, a sarcastic asshole who knows teachers want to read an entertaining essay instead of yet another regurgitation of whatever sounds academically "best."

So here's this history class, which actually turns out to be an english class in disguise, and we are told to read and write an essay on The First Autobiography Ever Written in the English Language, which just so happens to be about a lady who had FOURTEEN kids, suffered a psychotic break, and spent the rest of her life campaigning to become a saint.

It's called The Book of Margery Kempe. I cannot express to you how smug I am to find a pdf of the exact same copy we'd been told to buy, down to the same publishing house and year of publication. I won't even have to bullshit page numbers.

...It's written in Middle English.

Here begynnyth a schort tretys and a comfortabyl for synful wrecchys, wherin thei may have gret solas and comfort to hem and undyrstondyn the hy and unspecabyl mercy of ower sovereyn Savyowr Cryst Jhesu, whos name be worschepd and magnyfyed wythowten ende, that now in ower days to us unworthy deyneth to exercysen hys nobeley and hys goodnesse....

This is fine, College!me thinks. A little tedious, but clearly the entire class has successfully done the reading enough to talk about it, so it must be doable. They probably had discussions about the language and I forgot to pay attention.

So I write the essay, pulling quotes from this middle english pdf that I can only half read, but that I can certainly form opinions about. Is it my best essay? No. Is it snarky? Yes. Is it in MLA format? That's mostly what they'll be checking for.

Then the Professor pulls me aside after class and asks to speak with me in his office. I have another class that I have to go to, and because I'm commuting in to college I won't be back on campus until two days later; he says that's fine, and all of this is settled and we've parted ways before it hits me how fucking fucked I am.

It must be the book.

He's going to call me out on not buying the book.

Can he tell I didn't read the book?

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

And I have two days to stew in it.

By the time our meeting rolls around I am a Mess. He is going to fail me. I am going to die. If I open my mouth at all I will burst into tears. Perhaps there is the slimmest chance if I act Normal this will be fine??????

P: So I read your essay...

Me: *using my Normal face* ⊙.☉

P: ...and I'm just wondering...

Me: ⊙.☉'

P: ...where you got the quotes?

Me: ⊙.☉'''

P: .....because the version of the book we read....isn't in Middle English.

Me: ⊙.☉??????????

P: I actually thought you might have plagiarized it--

Me: ⊙.☉!!!!!!!

P:--but to be honest it's written so entirely in your style that it's impossible this essay is plagiarized.

Me: ........⊙.☉.....

P: .... Anyway.

P: Just wanted to chat.

P: Uh. You're free to go.

Me:

HERE'S THE LESSONS LEARNED:

Just buy the book Cite the pdf. The professors Do Not Care how you've read the book as long as they can plausibly believe you've read it.

Just read the book Listen. I wasn't going to get anywhere near an ADHD diagnosis until my 30s. And if they can't tell you didn't read the book, then is it really the same as not reading the book? I think Margery would agree you gotta make some shit up to get anywhere in life.

Being a sarcastic asshole in my academic papers saved me from a plagiarism charge.

[sunflowergirl522]

Give Me My Nose

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Times you and Eddie have stolen each others noses.

Word Count: 1757

Eddie Masterlist

The first time Eddie stole your nose he immediately fell in love with the act. You had been upset about losing your job due to Starcourt mall burning down and all he wanted to do was cheer you up. His jokes about the situation weren’t helping so he pinched your nose between his pointer and middle finger and stuck his thumb between them when he pulled away. You had immediately stopped rambling and the tears that were coming stopped as you looked at his fingers in shock.

“Eddie, this is serious, give it back. How am I supposed to find another job without my nose?” He had immediately cracked up at the seriousness painted on your face and in your tone. You had joined him shortly after when he smoothed it back on to your face. The way that you immediately played along and how big of a smile it brought to your face made him fall in love with it and you a little bit more.

From that point on Eddie had stolen your nose at the most serious and inopportune moments. There was one time he did it before a final your senior year. As your teacher was handing out the tests he reached over and plucked it right off your face.

“Eddie!” You had whisper yelled his name. “Give it back.”

“No.” He held it close to his chest before tucking it into his vest pocket. “I need it.”

“Not more than me, it’s my nose.” You hissed through your teeth looking at your teacher nearing you.

“And it’s my good luck charm! You can have it back after I pass this test with flying colors.”

You had tackled him in the hallway afterwards for it but he did pass the test. He claims that if it wasn’t for stealing your nose he never would’ve graduated.

Eddie also loved stealing your nose at work before one of his shows for the same good luck charm reasoning. You’re a bartender at the Hideout so you were always there for the Corroded Coffin shows. 

“Hey there Sweetheart, I’m gonna borrow this real quick.” He reached over the bar basically laying on the counter and snagged your nose between his fingers. “Need all the help I can get with this new song we’re performing.” 

“You need to give it back right now. Eddie I am working. How am I supposed to make tips tonight without a nose?” He pulled back when you reached out to take it back from him. 

“No can do, sorry Princess but Garreth said there’s a talent scout here tonight.” 

“What?! Eddie, that's great!” You round the counter to pull him into a hug. “Keep the nose I’m not risking it actually being your good luck charm with this much riding on it.” You lean up to kiss his cheek for good luck. “Go rock the socks off this place.” 

Eddie would also often use stealing your nose to his advantage. Like when he wanted some of your food or for you to come over and watch a movie with him. Or like the time where he finally asked you out.

You had shown up at the trailer earlier than you were supposed to before the two of you went to go see a movie. It’s something you normally did to hang out with Eddie longer and so you could see Wayne before he left for work. As soon as you handed his uncle the tupperware full of food you made for dinner that night for him to take to work he decided to finally ask the question he’s been dying to ask. As soon as Wayne was out of the door he was pulling you into his arms.

“What’s this for?” Your hands rested against his chest and you looked up at him with curious eyes.

“For taking such good care of me and Wayne all the time.”

“Oh, well I have to take care of my favorite guys. It’s really no big deal.” You beamed up at him and Eddie can’t help but steal your cute nose right off your face. “Was this all a ploy just for you to get my nose? Give it back.” You tried to reach for it but he held it above his head.

“Wasn’t a ploy, it was just too cute not to grab. I’ll give it back if you go on a date with me though.”

“Haven’t we been going on dates though? I mean Wayne even calls out ‘your girlfriends here’ when he opens the door to find me standing there.”

“What? How long have we been apparently going on dates?”

“I’ll tell you if you give me my nose.” 

“You win this round Princess.” He smoothed it back onto your face. 

“I thought we’ve been dating for like three months now. Thought when you asked me to go see Labyrinth and said it was just gonna be us was a date.”

“Oh, well yeah I actually chickened out from calling it a date that time.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize you picked up on what it was supposed to be.”

“Huh, no wonder you haven’t made any moves to kiss me or anything.” You laughed at the situation leaving Eddie to shoot you a shy smile. “So do you wanna count back then as our first date or tonight?”

You’ve stolen his nose a few times too. Not nearly as many times as he does though. He always ends up slapping your hand away before you can get it. You have to distract him first before you’re able to snag it by pointing his attention elsewhere, asking about music, or on occasion starting a makeout session. It’s easier to do when you’re hanging out with everyone else. Like when Steve has everyone over to swim in his pool. 

Eddie was distracted while talking to Dustin as he sat on the edge of the pool with a beer in his hand. You snuck up behind him holding a finger to your lips signaling for Dustin to stay quiet. You reached around him pinching his nose between your fingers and jumping up victoriously. 

“Woah! Okay Sweetheart, be careful with that.” Eddie stood up slowly holding his hands up in surrender. “Don’t want it to end up in the pool now do we?” You wanted to laugh at how he was acting like this is a hostage situation but kept your cool and made your way to the edge by the deep end.

“Don’t we?” You hold your hand out over the water.

“C’mon Sweetheart sure, it’ll be easy to find it in the pool. But that’s only if Harrington doesn’t stomp on it first. You really want me to go swimming to find it underwater with a hole in my head. It’s gonna fill up with water and then I’ll never be able to get it all out, water will be sloshing around in my head forever.”

“Hmm you do bring up good points.”

“Drop it Y/n!” Robin yelled from where she was floating.

“Shut it Buckley or I’ll throw your nose in the pool. Y/n, Princess, Sweetheart, light of my life, do not drop it in the pool. There will be consequences to your actions.”

“Okay, c’mere baby.” You half heartedly put it back on his face before shoving him into the pool.

“No!” Eddie yelled when he resurfaced cupping a hand over his face. “You didn’t secure it Y/n it fell off.”

“Whoops.”

“Whoops? Whoops?! Dustin do it.” You screamed as the younger kid pushed you in laughing when you came back up.

“That’s so not fair! I don’t have minions to help me.”

“You have to find my nose since you’re the reason it fell off while I try to get the water out of my head.” You belly laughed when he tilted his head down and started hitting the back of it. You eventually dove into the water searching for his nose at the bottom of the pool coming up after a few minutes and securing it on his face. You had received a kiss as a reward.

You also steal his nose when you can tell he’s anxious or stressed. You did it when he met your parents and it had gotten him to stop worrying about what they thought of him and more about getting it back. And you did it when he was about to find out if he graduated or not. You still do it before his shows sometimes. He’s become more anxious about performing now that Corroded Coffin is picking up traction thanks to the talent scout.

Eddie will be pacing backstage with the band and you when you decide enough's enough of his worrying. “Eddie, look at me.” You say stepping in front of him and stopping him in his tracks. You’ll reach up and snag his nose before stepping away and normally hiding behind Garreth so it’s harder for him to get to you. 

“Y/n come on I can’t go on stage without my nose.”

“I’ll give it back if you repeat after me.” He sighs the same way he does each time you do this before a show but nods nonetheless. “We’re a great band and the crowd is gonna love us.”

“We’re a great band and the crowd is gonna love us.”

“If they didn’t like our music they wouldn’t have bought tickets.”

“If they didn’t like our music they wouldn’t have bought tickets.”

“We’re going to go out there and blow the roof off this place and then we’ll celebrate with my wonderful girlfriend.”

“We’re going to go out there and blow the roof off this place and then we’ll celebrate with my wonderful girlfriend.” And when he’s done speaking you’ll smooth his nose back into its spot before giving it a little peck and letting him scoop you into a hug. “Thanks Sweetheart, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

The two of you will be stealing each other's noses for the rest of your lives. You both even did it on your wedding day. You had both been standing at the altar facing each other before the priest started speaking when you both went for it at the same time. You both did teary eyed chuckles at that and held onto the other's nose the whole ceremony. After the kiss you gave the noses back with Eddie smiling down at you saying, “Here’s your nose Mrs. Munson.”

Eddie Taglist: @sadbitchfangirl​​ @notbeforelong​​ @daisyellsong​​ @munsonswhore86​​ @katsukis1wife​​ @violet-19999​​ @navs-bhat​​ @emotionaldreamer​​ ​ @thatsamegirl​​ @fromasgardandback​​ @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker​​ @rockchickrebel​​ @yourdailymemedelivery​​ @magicalchocolatecheesecake​​ @watercolorskyy​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @brattypeony​​ @trikigirl271​​ @fangirling-4-ever​​ @angelina0191​​ @gaysludge​​ @audhd-dragonaut​​ ​ @chxosunbound​​ ​@eddiethesexy​ @mazerunnerrose​​ @20fandomfangirl​​ @tvserie-s-world​​ @reddisteddie​​ @redgetawaycar​ @eddies-lover​​ @alexis6699​

Everything Taglist: @munsonsmuse​ @matchamunson​ @bubsonnobx​ @practicalghost​ 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my sister that I didn't find her instagram post funny and that I didn't want her to send me things like that again?

I (32f) have never had a good relationship with my sister (34f). We have gotten somewhat better over time, but we have always had a strained relationship. We are about as opposite as you can be. Social rights issues? No compromise. ACAB? Constant disagreements. Politics: best never mention them. TV Shows? No interest at all. Music? We cannot stand each other's music. We genuinely have nothing except our blood and the fact we were raised by the same people in common.

I am currently in the process of finishing my PhD and live on a different continent to her. We have been vaguely trying to talk and maintain a cordial friendship from afar.

For the past four months I had been preparing for a conference that I was organizing, leading, and moderating. It was a massive project that will be a huge part of my dissertation research, and it went very well. The day after the conference I had a long career planning discussion with some academic advisors, and spent about three hours talking in my second language with my own advisor. The combination of everything left me genuinely exhausted to the point that I woke up the day after it all still too tired to move.

After I woke up, I realized I had a text from her containing an instagram link - no comment, no notes, no context, just the link. I know I wasn't in a perfect headspace and still needed more sleep, but I clicked it because usually she just spam sends me instagram videos about random baby rearing things she finds funny. I don't find any of them amusing, but tolerate them because she seems to enjoy it. I usually just nod my head or offer a few responses to show I've seen it and move on.

But this video was different. This video was, as far as I can tell, an influencer attempt at selling an AI. It had a young woman walk into a classroom with the onscreen text describing how "my professor is the same age as us and she has her phd!" and when she was asked how she got it, the video shows how the "teacher" went onto Youtube, put Youtube videos into this AI which created an algorithm to summarize the video. It ends with the words "University is a joke in 2024".

I was....genuinely offended. After everything I had been through working on this conference and with years of thesis work, I was just hurt. I watched it a few times, trying to understand what it was even trying to say, and could come up with no good reason for why she would just send it to me. So I wrote back to her "idk how you even want me to respond."

She said she thought it was funny, and I asked her if she understood why I wouldn't find it funny. She wrote back "because you lack my sense of humor smh." I tried explaining why I was upset and reframed it in the context of her job. She doubled down that she thought it was funny, but that it was because she thought it was amusing anyone would think they could get any kind of degree like that.

I explained that AI is genuinely a problem in universities right now and that our students are using it to get through their classes and it's causing a lot of chaos with profs trying to crack down on it. Then I told her it felt like she sent me something just to annoy me.

The argument continued from there. I asked her not to send me stuff like that again, and she asked how she was supposed to know I would be triggered by an AI video, and that I was being oversensitive, and how it was my fault for always assuming that she is plotting to piss me off and that she can never show an interest in my life without me having a "feelings dumpfest" and calling her out for being a bully.

I don't understand how she could think sending a video to me saying "university is a joke in 2024" with no context at all would be taken as a joke in the first place. And I felt like if I didn't tell her I didn't like this kind of video and why it made me upset she would keep sending things like this to me I'd have to keep seeing and ignoring future posts.

AITA for telling her I didn't think it was funny and to stop?

Should I have just ignored it and gone back to sleep? (At this point that's what I felt like I should have done...)

What are these acronyms?

[pearlywritings]

Can we get a...

synopsis: twins’ seventh birthday is almost half a year away, but it seems that they already have a gift in mind. Though you surely did not expect this.

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader, your twin sons Rufus and Lucas

tw: fluff, pregnancy

word count: 3.5k+ words

Family AU Masterlist

What a peaceful February afternoon. The fire flickers and wood cracks in the fireplace, warming up the area around. In this peaceful noise you make out Adelinde's voice quietly discussing something with Elzer in his study, with a door left slightly ajar - a precaution so she can always hear in case you call for her. But you don't think you'll need her help anytime soon, feeling quite cozy at the moment - multiple pillows support your back as you are resting on the sofa, big comforter covers your body from stomach and down, two boys are snuggling under it from both sides of your body, providing additional warmth and contently squinting from your fingers threading through their thick locks and gently massaging their heads. Their teacher has just left not so long ago and you are letting them relax after the whole morning of studying. After all, a break for yourself was around the corner as well, so the trade papers you'd been reviewing were put on a coffee table aside. You'll have enough time to finish this little work Diluc still lets you do in your condition, while he himself is out to check on the tavern in the city and, as you are guessing, buy kids some treats for their good behavior as well.

You feel Rufus shift a little on your right, bringing your mind back to reality - for a moment the serene atmosphere lulled you into a slumber. It makes you aware of what the two redheads have been doing ever since they joined you in the living room to cuddle - silently exchanging glances over your six-(almost seven)-month pregnant stomach. They are up to something it seems, but there is no hint of mischief in the air, so it should be something harmless - you won't pry until they want to share it with you.

Which happens pretty soon, as the boys nod simultaneously and then two sets of ruby-like eyes glance up at your face and you see it as a signal for a conversation, drawing your hands away from their heads and resting around their half-turned to you bodies.

"Mama?" Rufus is the one who starts the conversation after a few more moments of silence. You tenderly smile and rub his back in reassurance.

"Yes, baby, what is it?"

"Remember how it's our birthday in August?" The boy continues as his brother fumbles with his fingers a little, giving out his nervousness. You know your boys, despite their quite creative and energetic nature they rarely ask for something overly crazy or something you and your husband couldn't afford for them, so this one must be really serious, if the younger of the twins fidgets at the prospect of it. Your fingertips slide to his arm and down to his hands, offering to hold them, and Lucas puts them onto your palm almost immediately.

"Of course I do, loves," your smile never disappears, if anything it gets wider - they will be turning seven, hard to believe it's been several years of your babies' lives already. "Oh! You have something in mind for how you want to celebrate it?" They shake their heads, so you try another, "presents?"

This time they confirm your guess with a nod and Lucas, playing with your fingers, hums. 

"And what might it be?" You ask curiously, once again witnessing how the boys exchange glances, as if deciding who'll be the one to announce it. To your surprise they both take deep inhale, look back at you and blurt the question out together:

"Canwegetadog!?"

"Wha-" caught off guard you stare at them with wide eyes, though very quickly recovering. "I am sorry, could you repeat that? I don't think I heard it with all this speed."

Twins pout, as if saying it again offends them very much, but eventually Lucas shakes your hand a little, asking for your attention, which you direct at him.

"Yes?"

"Me and Rufus were wondering… Would you and papa let us get a dog?"

Oh. A pet? Wow, this is new and serious indeed.

"A dog?" They nod again, tense like bowstrings awaiting for your reaction, almost not blinking as they stare at you. A little bit caught off guard you keep your silence for a few seconds, thinking over their request. But it looks like the lack of response from you is concerning for the twins, as they become even more fidgety and avert their ruby eyes, thinking they did the wrong thing, after all, that's an almost life-changing matter. They nearly jump when your hands come to rest on their backs, comfortingly rubbing.

"What kind of dog? Do you have something in mind or you just decided you simply want a dog?" 

As if by a wave of the magic wand their shoulders relax, gaze back on you and smiles once again plastered on their cute little faces. Rufus immediately starts untangling himself from under the comforter.

"Oh, we can show! I'll go get it, wait a moment, ma!" Finally free, he jumps off the sofa, swiftly turns back to tuck the fabric back at your side and quickly runs to the stairs and to their room. Lucas presses himself into you again, one arm wrapping around your stomach and his face tucked into your ribs.

"You are not mad?" You hear in a muffled question, which makes you chuckle and put your own hand on top of his.

"Of course not, Lu. An animal companion is a sweet idea, I love it. But before I, or your father make any decisions, we need to fully understand what you two want and how to operate it," and for you to know what to use when appealing the idea to your husband, because it happened so that there’s never been a conversation about pets, aside from his falcon, who is more of a companion to him, and the kids are still wary around her.

"Oh, you mean like, the size, the eating and walking habits, how it is with people?" The younger peaks up and you are amazed at how clever he is.

"Yes, that's what I mean…how do you know?"

"We read it in a book brother went to get. Dad let us use the library in his study and Rufus found an encyclopedia about dogs. There are pictures and all kinds of interesting stuff. We asked Addie to help us a little with the words we didn't know."

You hum in acknowledgement, not having time to say anything else, because you can hear your other son reappearing on top of the stairs and soon tapping his way down and back to you and his brother.

"Here!" He proudly presents you a pretty slim volume and this time you don't even need both hands to take it. Lucas patiently waits for his brother to climb back under the warm fabric and get comfortable and only then tells you to open page 56.

Placing the book partly on your belly, you start searching for the page and find it pretty quickly, as it appears to be the first one in the Snezhnayan national breeds section. While many domestic animals were bred and selected in their homelands, it's not strange to see some of them distributed to other regions as well, so, the non-Mondstadt-originated dog doesn't surprise you.

Seeing the name of the breed though makes you snort on the inside, imagining the look on Diluc's face when he hears about it.

"Snezhnayan Borzoi?" You ask, looking at the illustration of a very elegant dog with long slim legs, equally long curved body, long snout, long tail, long beautiful fur… yeah, everything about this dog is long, which in the end gives a very noble-looking complexion. 

Boys nod.

"Yes, we really, really want it… Look how pretty it is!"

"And you both agreed on the same dog?" You ask a little bit in disbelief, knowing very well, how different some of their tastes are.

"Well…" Rufus trails off, staring at his brother, who returns the same kind of look to him.

"We wanted different," Lucas admits, "but when we told Addie, she said two dogs are too much."

Even if they don't elaborate, you understand the meaning behind it. Too much in general. And also there is soon going to be a new member of the family, which means your and Diluc's attention would be occupied even more, and if one dog (or a puppy, at first) is still manageable, two is hardly so.

Looks like your boys are growing so well, learning to make some sacrifices and be open to compromising, your heart couldn't be more happy for them.

"This beauty is pretty indeed," you say after their explanation and you can see how ruby eyes light up with hope. "And you came to an agreement, great job, boys!"

Two sets of arms wrap around your neck and both of your cheeks get a loud smooch.

"Thank you, mama! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

You laugh joyfully, turning head side to side to kiss their foreheads.

"Don't thank me just yet, we still have a game to play," ah, yes, the game the three of you practice before laying out some of the ideas to their father. It both helps to convince him faster and for the twins to develop the argumentative skills. And also works vice versa when they go to dad first with the matter where you have the final word in.

"Why don't you prove to me this sweet dog is the one for you and that generally it is a good idea," the smiles get wider, as they understand what you are implying, and by the confident looks on their faces you can guess they’ve already thought beforehand of what to say to you.

"Yes, mom! So," Lucas decides to not beat around the bush and start right away, "we do not ask for two dogs. We know it is a big deal," he says it so proudly, that you can hardly contain a chuckle.

"Secondly," Rufus points into the book and you glance at the numbers presented there, "this dog is big."

"And why is that good?" the older twin furrows his brows for a moment in thought, pursing his lips. You patiently wait, before he comes up with something.

"I think a small dog is hard to notice and if it barks, the sound is too, um…" ruby gaze darts to the side for help.

"Disturbing," his brother offers.

"Yes, disturbing! And you'll soon have a baby…" both boys look at your belly and Rufus gently pats it, which brings a bright glint to your eyes. They are so considerate.

"Besides," Lucas chirps again, "they are quite lazy while inside and won't be too noisy. When outside they love to run a lot and we have a lot of land around for it. I think we can easily go for a walk three times a day with it."

"Hm, but it says here that each walk should take at least an hour. Sure you can handle it?" You point at the paragraph with the descriptions and boys start thinking. "You should understand that this will be your dog and it will listen to you."

"Yeah, we read that borzoi do not really listen, and to the people who are not their owners…" Rufus sighs, and you see the understanding that maids will be of little help sink in. "But we will try very hard! We can walk after breakfast… ah, wait, the classes…" at that you chuckle, and reach to ruffle his hair.

"Don't worry, I am sure your dad won't mind rearranging the beginning of your classes to start a bit later," their faces beam with a smile again.

"And then we can easily walk in the afternoon and evening!"

"That's great, loves," the praise encourages them even more and by the time it's lunch hour, the twins have laid out some more proving points, making you believe Diluc would be easily swayed.

"You really want this dog, aren't you…" you muse, finishing reading the article the book offered. They eagerly nod. From the corner of your eye you notice Adelinde, who has come out to check on you three and the fireplace. Suddenly she chuckles.

"Sorry, My Lady, I happened to overhear your conversation."

"Oh, that's fine," you offer her a reassuring smile, which she returns with a sweet one of her own. "But what made you laugh, Adelinde?"

"Just remembered how animated young masters have been for the last couple of days, when talking about this beautiful dog in my presence."

"Is that so?" The boys sheepishly giggle, starting to make their way out of the comforter's embrace. "Ah, nevermind," shaking your head and passing a book back to Rufus, you move the comforter completely off of you, and, with some assistance from Adelinde, rise to your feet.

"It's time for lunch, isn't it? Let's go have it, and when dad comes home in the evening, you'll talk to him, alright?"

"Mhm!"

"Good. Now go and put the book back into your room, wash your hands and be ready to dig in," your sons disappear as quickly as you finish your speech. The woman next to you offers you her arm and you thankfully lean on it, even if it's just mere meters to the dining table.

An opening door draws your attention from the book and instantly the bookmark is placed between the pages as your eyes connect with your husband's vermillion ones. The jacket has probably been taken away by the maids to clean and dry and he also lacks a cravat and a vest. What he isn't lacking is a small smile brightening up his whole face and reflecting in the burning fire of his soul.

"Good evening, my flame," the greeting is sweet on his tongue and the almost unnoticeable sprint in his steps is an indicator of how much the Master of the Dawn Winery has been craving to be back with you, his wife. The bed dips under his knee and the gloves are swiftly taken off and thrown to the side. Big scarred warm palms cup your cheeks and a kiss is pressed against your lips, sealing his words like a barrel of dandelion wine.

Diluc cradles your face in his hands so delicately, so gingerly, you start thinking he is back to viewing you as a glass piece that can easily break, which was proved wrong many times before. You kiss him back with a little more force to remind him you are not fragile and the man seems to chuckle, drawing his face away to gaze at you lovingly. Only for his eyes to widen a little when you peck his nose and rub yours against it.

A rich laugh is born within the confinement of his chest and a few more fleeting kisses are placed all over your cheeks.

"Missed me this much?" You murmur quietly, afraid to break the atmosphere. Your husband hums, rubbing his thumbs over your cheekbones.

"Yes…missed you so much," then his gaze flits down to your stomach and the next moment the palms are pressed against your rounded belly, with lips following soon after. 

"Missed the little one too, love."

Instantly your fingers go into his flaming hair, releasing them from a high ponytail and carefully running digits through the heavy locks. You let him have his moment, lovingly staring at the back of his head, listening to the softest murmurs offered to the baby in your belly, your third child, your soon-to-be-joy. Just two more months.

"Do you feel sore?" His burning gaze is back on your calm one, worrying about you overworking your body - you are carrying a big weight on your midsection all the time, he knows it's hard.

"Luc, love, have you forgotten? You literally increased payment to my maids to take care of me whenever you can't. Soon I'll get addicted to all these nice massages."

"That's not a bad thing."

"Yeah, I am aware, and you could use some too. I can feel your tense back under my fingertips"

"Love," he groans but you know, it's not of annoyance, just him being playful. "Besides you know our staff adore you. Helping you in any way possible, especially now, is no trouble for them."

“Your ability to convince me of anything in the sweetest ways possible scares me,” you laugh, when he gives you an unamused glance, and poke his cheek with a finger.

“Speaking of convincing, have boys already gotten to you with one?”

You bring your hands from his hair to your stomach when your husband draws himself back and off the bed to properly undress and change while having a conversation with you. By the sound of him lightly chuckling you know they have.

“Oh, when I tell you I got worried when they met me at the front door and urgently asked to go to my study - you better believe it,” he grabs the gloves he threw away minutes ago and walks to put them in a drawer.

“So, how went the discussion of their desired birthday present?” You really are curious - after all that’s such a big decision and, by the looks of it, means a lot to your sons, who, as it now becomes clear to you why, have even spent the last week being on their best, borderline perfect behavior.

Diluc grabs a hanger from a wardrobe and puts it on the bed, starting to work on his shirt. A concentrated look on his face doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and the need to know his thoughts stirs impatience inside.

“Tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“Well,” a fond look of his crimson eyes graces your somewhat displeased expression, quickly making you melt, earning a smile from him as well, “it went very well.”

“For you or for them?”

“What if I say both?” he teases and you almost roll your eyes. If the bed wasn’t so big you’d reach out and kick his leg.

“Come oooon, I am intrigued!”

“I know you are,” a chuckle.

“You know and yet you keep it a secret? Unbelievable. Your brother’s antics rub on you it seems. Don’t look at me like that, we both know you were even worse in your teens.”

“One day he won’t see the light of it,” Diluc promises without malice and, finally changed, climbs onto the bed to settle by your side, only to be attacked by your loving kisses and a big hug, which he accepts eagerly, encouraging your affectionate clinginess.

“Tell meeee, did they do well?”

“In their game of conviction? Of course they did, you are their teacher,” at that you giggle.

“So… Does that mean you told them you’d get a dog? The exact one they want?”

“I didn’t say I’d get them a dog, but I promised to think.”

“Only to get it as a surprise?”

“You know me too well, my flame. And though their choice surprised me, I don't have anything against it.”

“Though the land of origin has it against you?” The man sighs at your joke, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“It’s going to be hard, but I’ll put someone from my people in charge of that. After all, borzoi aren’t popular in Mond, it’s probably been years since the last time some noble adopted a dog like that as an,” he twists his fore and middle fingers, “ ‘exotic pet’.”

“True,” you agree, reaching out to take his hand and put a head on his shoulder. “You think we'll handle it on top of everything?"

"I think we will. I suppose we'll have some time to get adjusted to having the baby here. Then I could help Ru and Lu train the puppy. Borzoi are quite temperamental, after all, they’ll need assistance."

"And once again you are ready to go such lengths to make our babies happy. You are a great father, you know?”

He doesn’t even need to respond, because you both know the answer to this question. Diluc leans to rest the cheek against your head and intertwines your fingers, gently squeezing to tighten the hold. Your words, this exact admittance brought a bigger smile on the man’s face and caused butterflies to dance in his chest, caressing his heart with the soft trembles of their wings. Yes, he’d do many things to assure his family’s safety and happiness, as it became his life purpose after meeting you.

Besides, birthdays happen once a year, right? And getting a dog isn’t all that extraordinary, - knowing his boys and their wild imagination he could’ve expected something mind-blowing (like that time when they saw Klee using her bombs and begged you two to install those instead of the fireworks. Obviously you two declined, letting Albedo take care of that part, so in the end Rufus and Lucas still were entertained and content with the fire show).

So, yeah, Snezhnayan Borzoi it is.

Maybe he could teach it to bark at Kaeya. Just because he can.

[leonsdoll]

NEW STUDENT PT.2

--------------------------------------------------

part one

plot: the big school field trip is finally here and you hazel share a room

warnings: none, not proofread but I don't think I made any errors:)

word count: 0.9k

notes:thank you fruity ppl for the attention on pt.1🌚this is again boring so:3 anyways this if the last chapter y'all but I'm write smth else soon!! anyways I hope you enjoy this lame follow up🔥🙏🏼

--------------------------------------------------

for every senior class there was a special school trip, this year your school saved up money for it instead of taking you guys to a cheap motel an hour away like they've done the other years.

this year you guys are going to Venice. I mean sure you're staying at a hotel with no heater or locking doors but it's better than what they did last year. the flight was an excruciating 12 hours of students screaming, singing and trying to keep each other entertained, but when you got there it was sorta worth it...

when you got to your hotel everyone rushed out of the bus making your bag fall into a puddle of water, already off to a great start. inside it was very fancy looking...but also old looking, the walls were cracking and it smelled like a creepy old neighbor. the guides explained how the rooms would work, they were dividing it in boys and girls with each room having a king sized bed.

"okay so everyone is going in twos so partner up!" the teacher explained, everyone quickly chose their partner, you looked around and saw hazel alone, the only time you guys talked was her first day of school, sure you guys did exchange numbers but no one actually texted first. walking up to hazel you were building up the confidence to ask her to partner up, you tapped her shoulder and she turned around looking you in the eyes before dropping her gaze down to the ground.

"hey do you wanna stay in a room with me?" she looked up at you and nodded with a smile, you both went to your room and settled down, there was a knock at the door before the teacher peeked in telling you guys everyone was going out to dinner in an hour, after accepting the invite the door closed leaving you guys alone once again, "so are you going hazel?" you questioned hoping you had an excuse to sit by her and talk more.

"i don't know, I mean are you going?" she asked her voice cracking mid sentence, "yeah I am, if you don't wanna go that's fine I'll just tell the teacher tha-" you were quickly cut off by hazel, "if you're going I'm going so uhm..." you swear you could see her blush just a bit. after a good twenty minutes of getting ready, it was time to go, you and hazel walked out and met everyone else down stairs.

the restaurant was again fancy but old, is everything here fancy and old? you all sat down at your assigned seats, you obviously next to hazel, the waiter came by and you ordered something simple nothing too expensive. as people started talking and things got a little louder you thought it would be a great time to actually have a full conversation with hazel.

you turned to hazel and spoke,"how are you hazel? you know you never texted me" she turned to face you and got eyes slightly widened at what she would call your boldness, "oh sorry I forgot I guess...but uhm I'm good, how are you" hazel let out a breath she didn't even know she held in, you were shoked at her full not very awkward phrase.

"well I'm pretty good, life is pretty boring but I think this trip is gonna be fun" you smiled at an attempt to add some positivity to the conversation, so it's not just awkward lesbians trying to talk. "oh yeah they have some cool art museums here you know? I think we're going to some while we're here" you were not surprised by hazel's interest in art, you chuckled at hazel's enthusiasm about museums.

"well maybe you could tell me more about your interest mh? you thought letting her rant about things she likes would keep the conversation going and well it did! for the rest of the dinner she talked about her skills and other cool things about herself, you learned she can build a very "small" bomb and knew taekwondo, who knew she was so interesting?. when you got back to the hotel somehow it was already 10pm, you both got ready for bed and got into your guys shared bed.

you kept thinking about wanting to do something, like maybe kiss her? or maybe just share your feelings with her? you didn't know what exactly but you just had to do something, "hey haze?" you thought maybe using a silly nickname would maybe show her you've loosened up, she looked away from her phone and looked straight into your eyes, suddenly you wanted to back out but you couldn't, I mean what were you gonna tell her If not that you like her.

you put your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, "I think I like you" you quietly blurred out, her eyes widened before relaxing them, "oh well...I think I like you too" she couldn't contain the smile on her face and she felt her face get hot, you smiled back at her and moved closer to her, "can I kiss you" you said so quietly it was almost not even a whisper.

she moved closer to you and gently put her hands on the sides of your face, "yes, please" she whispered back, you leaned in and finally connected her lips to yours, her lips were soft and warm against yours, after a few more seconds of a sweet kiss she pulled away, you couldn't help but giggle a bit and smile, "does this mean we're like girlfriends now?" she asked you, you thought about it for a moment before responding, "yeah it does".

[ambcass]

ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ || ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛᴄʜ.

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬. (𝐏𝐓.𝟏)

warnings: mentions of throwing up, cursing, OCC (maybe), Y/N being a lil shit, fake friends, shit talking?, mentions of ED, arguments, stalking (in the sense that!..)

They called me a disappointment. My so-called "friends", teachers, and family. All because I couldn't be #1. I tried, I really did but I just couldn't. Ever since I lost my best friend, MY Jason.

"It's been years Y/N. Why can't you get over it? I got over it when my mom died and-" I cut her off. "How are you making this about you right now, Eveling? Your mom died when you were 5 but I've known Jason since-like forever! I snapped back. She stayed quiet and didn't dare to speak. We got to a bus stop and sat on a bench. In silence.

"I-I didn't mean to talk about your mom like that. I know it must have been hard for you" I comforted her. I didn't mean what I said. The "it must have been hard" part. I only said it because I felt bad. She turned and softly smiled at me.

"It's ok, Y/N. I know you didn't mean it." Excuse me? What did this bitch mean? "I know you didn't mean it" Is that supposed to mean something?!? I brushed it off. The bus arrived. I waved goodbye to Eveling and hopped on the bus. I gave the bus driver exactly $1.25 and sat myself in the back. It took 30 minutes to get home. I didn't mind waking up early to get ready for school but never in a million years would anyone would think a bus would be at full capacity at 6:00 AM!

I got off at my stop and headed home. I unlocked the door. Great. No one home again? On the dining table was a note that stated,

*Back home late. (1 the latest)

*Left leftovers in the fridge.

*Be in bed by 10.

Love, Mom.

okayyy. I walked towards my room. Starting my homework while trying to get rid of the thought of giving up. Not even 27 minutes later, I gave up. I went to the kitchen to heat up the leftovers. My phone started ringing, and Eveling wanted to call. I picked up my phone.

"Hello?" I spoke. In her usual bubbly self, she replied to me in an enthusiastic voice. "Hi! Y/N, I'm at a sleepover right now but it's pretty boring so I decided to call you." The majority of the call time went from her telling me what was going on during the sleepover and me responding with many mhms, cool, and yeahs. I thought the call was going perfectly fine. Our calls were always like this. I listen while she talks. My stomach started to ache. I felt nauseous. I wanted to throw up.

"Eveling, I'm going to the bathroom," I ran to the bathroom because I was sure that leftovers were causing me to feel so sick. After multiple attempts to throw up, I finally got it out of my system. I washed my face and walked out to the kitchen counter.

My phone was on speaker. My phone was always on speaker. She knows this. So, why did she say those things about me? I walked into Eveling telling her friends shit about me.

"Y/N? I think the only reason why she rushed to the bathroom so quickly was because of her eating disorder!" she was giggling. Laughing even. My heart sank to the core of the Earth. Tears were being held back. I slowly walked back to the bathroom. I shouted,

"I'm doneee!" My voice was about to crack but from the speaker, I could hear her friend ask, "Are you sure she didn't hear?" and to that she responded with "We would have heard her fatass stomp around." They all laughed. At this point, I was done. Fuck this- you know what.

"You know what we can all hear? YOUR fatass stomping around for food. Get your fee, fai, foo, fum ass the fuck outa here. Y'know damn well, I'll run your shit. So, don't testtt mee." I retorted at her and hung up. I stormed to my room and slammed the door. I was too mad to cry. I fell to the ground and brought my knees to my chest. The few minutes of desired silence were interrupted. Knock. Knock. Two knocks came from my window. I didn't pay much attention, I thought it was squirrels.

Knock, knock, knock. This time the knocks became more intense and repetitive. I got up, walked up to my window, and opened my curtains. A man with a red helmet, leather jacket, and a suit with a red Batman symbol on it. I flinched and closed the curtains. The man knocked on the window again. He spoke,

"Y/N, don't be so scared." His voice. It sounded like a deeper and huskier version of Jason's.

He's dead. That's not Jason. THAT'S NOT JASON. I tried telling myself this but for some reason no matter how much I tried to restrain, I walked closer and closer to the window. I reopened the curtains.

I took another step and opened the window completely. I allowed this unknown man, who was pretty muscular into my home. He entered my room. The two of us meet eye to eye. He took off his helmet, it released steam, and it had a click to it.

"It's been a while, hasn't it Y/N?" I raised my brows. A man who looked 6'0, with short black fluffy hair and a white streak asked me. He looked like Jason? I thought, but he would never dye his hair with a conry white streak in it.

"I don't know you..." I was lying. I knew who he was but I just needed the confirmation.

"So, you would let a random stranger in your house? What? Is it cause I haven't been there to protect you all these years or is it because you know who I am and you're just playing dumb?" He asked.

It was truly him. He was back and I had so many questions but he's back. My Jason is back and I'll make sure he won't leave me again.

a/n: i was gna post last week but :)...